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Old  court  life  in 


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BORROWER'S    NAMF 


Elliot,  Frances 

Old  court  life  in  France 


JFL 
944.028 


Y.I 


DIANE  DE  POITIERS. 


OLD   COURT   LIFE 
IN    FRANCE 


FRANCES    ELLIOT 

AUTHOR  OF  "DIARY  OF  AN  IDLE  WOMAN  IN  ITALY, 
"  PICTURE  OF  OLD  ROME,"  BTC.,  ETC. 


VOLUME  I. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

27  WEST  TWENTY-THIRD  ST.  24  BEDFORD  ST.,  STRAND 

<fbt   Jituchcrbochrr    press 


COPYRIGHT,  18(53,  BV 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

Entered  at  Stationers'   Hall,  London 

BY  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


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Stack 
Annex 


TO   MY   NIECE 

THE   COUNTESS   OF    MINTO 

THIS   WORK   IS 
INSCRIBED 


2045160 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    FIFTH    EDITION. 


I  CANNOT  express  the  satisfaction  I  feel  at  find- 
ing myself  once  more  addressing  the  great 
American  public,  which  from  the  first  has  re- 
ceived my  works  with  such  flattering  favour. 

I  have  taken  special  pleasure  in  the  production 
of  this  new  edition  of  Old  Court  Life  in  France, 
which  was  first  published  in  America  some  twenty 
years  ago,  and  which  is,  I  trust,  now  entering  into  a 
new  lease  of  life. 

That  the  same  cordial  welcome  may  follow  the 
present  edition,  which  was  accorded  to  the  first,  is 
my  anxious  hope. 

A  new  generation  has  appeared,  which  may,  I 
trust,  find  itself  interested  in  the  stirring  scenes  I 
have  delineated  with  so  much  care,  that  they  might 
be  strictly  historical,  as  well  as  locally  correct. 

To  write  this  book  was,  for  me  (with  my  knowl- 
edge of  French  history)  a  labour  of  love.  It  takes 
me  back  to  the  happiest  period  of  my  life,  passed 
on  the  banks  of  the  historic  Loire :  to  Blois,  Am- 
boise,  Chambord,  and,  a  little  further  off,  to  the 
lovely  plaisanccs  of  Chenonceaux  and  Azay  le 
Rideau,  the  woods  of  magnificent  Versailles,  and 
Saint  Cloud  (now  a  desolation),  on  to  the  walls  of 


vi  Preface. 

the  palatial  Louvre,  the  house-tree  of  the  great  Kings 
and  Queens  of  France — never  can  all  these  annals 
be  fitly  told  !  Never  can  they  be  exhausted  ! 

To  be  the  guide  to  these  romantic  events  for  the 
American  public  is  indeed  an  honour.  To  lead  where 
they  will  follow,  with,  I  trust,  something  of  my  own 
enthusiasm,  is  worth  all  the  careful  labour  the  work 
has  cost  me. 

With  these  words  I  take  my  leave  of  the  unknown 
friends  across  the  sea,  who  have  so  kindly  appre- 
ciated me  for  many  years.  Although  I  have  never 
visited  America,  this  sympathy  bridges  space,  and 
draws  me  to  them  with  inexpressible  cordiality  and 
confidence,  in  which  sentiment  I  shall  ever  remain, 
leaving  my  work  to  speak  to  them  for  me. 

FRANCES  ELLIOT. 

June,  1893. 


PREFACE 

TO   THE     THIRD     EDITION — IN   REPLY   TO   CERTAIN 
CRITICS. 


TO  relate  the  "  Court  life  "  of  France — from  Francis 
I.  to  Louis  XIV. — it  is  necessary  to  relate,  also, 
the  history  of  the  royal  favourites.  They  ruled 
both  court  and  state,  if  they  did  not  preside  at  the 
council.  The  caprice  of  these  ladies  was,  actually, 
"  the  Pivot  on  which  French  history  turned." 

Louis  XIII.  was  an  exception.  Under  him  Cardi- 
dinal  Richelieu  reigned.  Richelieu's  "zeal"  for 
France  led  him  unfortunately  to  butcher  all  his  po- 
litical and  personal  opponents.  He  ruled  France,  axe 
in  hand.  It  was  an  easy  way  to  absolute  power. . 

Cardinal  Mazarin  found  France  in  a  state  of  an- 
archy. The  throne  was  threatened  with  far  more 
serious  dangers  than  under  Richelieu.  To  feudal 
chiefs  were  joined  royal  princes.  The  great  Conde 
led  the  Spanish  troops  against  his  countrymen.  Yet 
no  political  murder  stains  the  name  of  the  gentle 
Italian.  He  triumphed  by  statescraft, — and  married 
the  Infanta  to  Louis  XIV. 

Cardinal  de  Retz  possessed  much  of  the  genius  of 
Richelieu.  No  cruelty,  however,  attaches  to  his 
memory.  But  De  Retz  was  on  the  wrong  side,  the 
side  of  rebellion.  He  was  false  to  his  king  and  to 
France.  Great  as  were  his  gifts,  he  fell  before  the 
persevering  loyalty  of  Mazarin. 


viii  Preface. 

The  personal  morality  of  either  of  these  states- 
men ill  bears  investigation.  Marion  de  1'Orme  was 
the  mistress  and  the  spy  of  Richelieu  ;  Mazarin— it 
is  to  be  hoped — was  privately  married  to  the  Queen 
Regent  Anne  of  Austria.  Cardinal  de  Retz  had,  as 
a  contemporary  remarks,  "  a  bevy  of  mistresses." 

We  have  the  authority  of  Charlotte  de  Baviere, 
second  wife  of  Phillippe  Due  d'Orleans,  brother  of 
Louis  XIV.,  in  her  Autobiographical  Fragments, 
"  that  her  predecessor,  Henrietta  of  England,  was 
poisoned."  No  legal  investigation  was  ever  made  as 
to  the  cause  of  her  sudden  death.  There  is  no  proof 
"that  Louis  XIV.  disbelieved  she  was  poisoned." 

The  number  of  the  victims  of  the  St.  Bartholo- 
mew-massacre is  stated  by  Sully  to  have  been  70,- 
ooo.  (Memoirs,  book  I.,  page  37.)  Sully  and  other 
authorities  state  "  that  Charles  IX.,  at  his  death, 
manifested  by  his  transports  and  his  tears  the  sor- 
row he  felt  for  what  he  had  done."  Further,  "  that 
when  dying  he  sent  for  Henry  of  Navarre,  in  whom 
alone  he  found  faith  and  honour."  (Sully,  book  I., 
page  42.) 

That  Sorbin,  confessor  to  Charles  IX.,  should  have 
denied  this  is  perfectly  natural.  Henry  of  Navarre 
would  stink  in  the  confessor's  nostrils  as  a  pestilent 
heretic.  As  to  the  credibility  of  Sorbin  (a  bigot  and 
a  controversialist),  I  would  refer  to  the  Mcmoircs  dc 
I'ct at  de  France  sous  Charles  IX.,  vol.  3,  page  267. 

According  to  the  Confession  de  Saticy,  Sorbin 
de  St.  Foy  "  was  made  a  Bishop  for  having  placed 
Charles  IX.  among  the  Martyrs." 

FRANCES  (MINTO)  ELLIOT. 

August,  1873. 


PREFACE 


ALL  my  life  I  have  been  a  student  of  French 
memoir-history.  In  this  species  of  literature 
France  is  remarkably  rich.  There  exist  contempo- 
rary memoirs  and  chronicles,  from  a  very  early 
period  down  to  the  present  time,  in  which  are  pre- 
served not  only  admirable  outlooks  over  general 
events,  but  details  of  language,  character,  dress,  and 
manners,  not  to  be  found  elsewhere.  I  was  bold 
enough  to  fancy  that  somewhat  yet  remained  to 
tell ; — say — of  the  caprices  and  eccentricities  of 
Louis  XIII.,  of  the  homeliness  of  Henri  Quatre, 
of  the  feminine  tenderness  of  Gabrielle  d'Estrees, 
of  the  lofty  piety  and  unquestioning  confidence  of 
Louise  de  Lafayette,  of  the  romantic  vicissitudes  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier ;  and  that  some  pic- 
tures might  be  made  of  these  old  French  personages 
for  English  readers  in  a  way  that  should  pourtray 
the  substance  and  spirit  of  history,  without  affect- 
ing to  maintain  its  form  and  dress. 

In  all  I  have  written  I  have  sought  carefully  to 
work  into  my  dialogue  each  word  and  sentence  re- 
corded of  the  individual,  every  available  trait  or 
peculiarity  of  character  to  be  found  in  contempo- 
rary memoirs,  every  tradition  that  has  come  down 
to  us. 


x  Preface, 

To  be  true  to  life  has  been  my  object.  Keeping 
close  to  the  background  of  history,  I  have  endeav- 
oured to  group  the  figures  of  my  foreground  as  they 
grouped  themselves  in  actual  life.  I  have  framed 
them  in  the  frames  in  which  they  really  lived. 

FRANCES  ELLIOT. 

FARLEY  HILL  COURT, 
Christmas,  1872. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I — FRANCIS  I i 

II — CHARLES  DE  BOURBON 6 

III — BROTHER  AND  SISTER    ......  12 

IV — THE  QUALITY  OF  MERCY 20 

V — ALL  LOST  SAVE  HONOUR 28 

VI — BROKEN  FAITH 33 

VII — LA  DUCHESSE  D'ETAMPES       .        .                 .        .  42 

VIII — LAST  DAYS 49 

IX — CATHERINE  DE'  MEDICI 55 

X — A  FATAL  JOUST 58 

XI — THE  WIDOWED  QUEEN 63 

XII — MARY  STUART  AND  HER  HUSBAND        ...  67 

XIII— A  TRAITOR     .        . 74 

XIV— THE  COUNCIL  OF  STATK. 80 

XV — CATHERINE'S  VENGEANCE       . T~^"T      .        .  86 

XVI — THE  ASTROLOGER'S  CHAMBER         ....  94 

XVII — AT  CHENONCEAU 101 

XVIII — A  DUTIFUL  DAUGHTER 113 

XIX — BEFORE  THE  STORM 122 

XX — ST.  BARTHOLOMEW 129 

XXI — THE  END  OF  CATHERINE  DE'  MEDICI     .        .        .  139 

XXII — THE  LAST  OF  THE  VALOIS 146 

XXIII— DON  JUAN 158 

XXIV — CHARMANTF.  GABRIELLE 172 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACK 

DIANE  DE  POITIERS Frontispiece 

*FRANCIS  I. -4 

*DUC  DE  MONTMORENCI  .                  2O 

*QUEEN  ELINOR 42 

*DUCHKSSE  D'ETAMPES  ........  48 

CHATEAU  DE  CHAMBORD 52 

DIANE  DE  POITIERS 60 

CHATEAU  D'AMBOISE,  ON  THE  LOIRE 88 

CHARLES  IX 104 

HENRY  III 116 

ADMIRAL  COLIGM  .........  132 

CATHERINE  DE'  MEDICI 140 

CHATEAU  DE  BLOIS 150 

HENRY  IV 160 

Louis  XIII 232 

CARDINAL  RICHELIEU      .......         .  270 


*  These  have  been  reproduced  as  a  matter  of  convenience  and  with  the  kind 
permission  of  Messrs.   Richard    Bentley  &   Son,  from  the  plates  in  Miss  Pardoe's 
"  Meitioirs  of  the  French  Court"  instead  of  from  the  original  portraits. 
VOL.   I.  xiii 


xii  Contents. 

CHAFFER  PAGE 

XXV— ITALIAN  ART 186 

XXVI— BIRON'S  TREASON 198 

XXVII — A  COURT  MARRIAGE    .        .        .        .  •      .        .  207 

XXVIII — THE  PREDICTION  FULFILLED        ....  215 

XXIX— Louis  XIII 227 

XXX— THE  ORIEL  WINDOW 235 

XXXI — AN  OMINOUS  INTERVIEW 244 

XXXII — LOVE  AND  TREASON 254 

XXXIII— THE  CARDINAL  DUPED 263 

XXXIV— THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR 271 

XXXV— AT  VAL  DE  GRACE 283 

XXXVI — THE  QUEEN  BEFORE  THE  COUNCIL       .        .        .  291 

XXXVII — LOUISE  DE  LAFAYETTE 302 

NOTES 317 


AUTHORITIES 


Memoires  de  Brantome. 

Memoires  de  son  Temps,  Du  Bellay. 

Histoire  de  Henri  Due  de  Bouillon. 

Memoires  de  Conde. 

Dictionnaire  de  Bayle,  "Due  de  Guise." 

Histoire  des  Guerres  Civiles  de  la  France,  par  Davila. 

Memoires  pour  servir  a  1'Histoire  de  France,  par  Champollion. 

Memoires  de  Coligni. 

Novaes,  Storia  dei  Pontefici. 

Memoires  de  Marguerite  de  Valois. 

Journal  de  Henri  III. 

Memoires  de  Sully. 

Histoire  de  Henri  IV.,  par  Mathieu. 

Histoire  des  Amours  de  Henri  IV. 

L'Intrigue  du  Cabinet  sous  Henri  IV.  et  Louis  XIII. 

Memoires  pour  1'Histoire  du  Cardinal  de  Richelieu. 

Memoires  du  Cardinal  de  Richelieu. 


Histoire  de  la  Mere  et  du  Fils,  par  Mezeray. 

Memoires  du  Marechal  de  Bassompierre. 

Observations  de  Bassompierre. 

Memoires  de  feu  Monsieur  (Gaston)  Due  d'Orleans. 

Memoires  de  Cinq-Mars. 

Memoires  de  Montresor. 

La  Cour  de  Marie  de'  Medici,  par  un  Cadet  de  Gascogne. 

Lettres  de  Madame  de  Sevigne. 

Memoires  de  Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier. 

Memoires  du  Due  de  Lauzun. 

VOL.  I.  XV 


x  v  i  Authorities. 

Memoires  de  Madame  de  Motteville. 

Memoires  de  M.  d'Artagnan. 

Memoires  du  Cardinal  de  Retz. 

Memoires  de  La  Porte. 

Memoires  de  Mazarin. 

CEuvres  Completes  de  Saint-Simon. 

Memoires  de  la  Duchesse  de  la  Valliere. 

Memoires  de  la  Marquise  de  Montespan. 

Memoires  de  la  Marquise  de  Maintenon. 

Amours  des  Rois  de  France. 

Dulaure,  Histoire  de  Paris. 

Histoire  de  la  Touraine,  dans  la  Bibliotheque  Publique  a  Tours. 

Capefigue,  Ouvrages  Divers. 


OLD   COURT    LIFE    IN    FRANCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FRANCIS   I. 

WE  are  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Europe  is 
young  in  artistic  life.  The  minds  of  men 
are  moved  by  the  discussions,  councils,  protests, 
and  contentions  of  the  Reformation.  The  printing 
press  is  spreading  knowledge  into  every  corner  of 
the  globe. 

At  this  period,  three  highly  educated  and  un- 
scrupulous young  men  divide  the  power  of  Europe. 
They  are  Henry  VIII.  of  England,  Charles  V.  of 
Austria,  and  Francis  I.  of  France.  Each  is  magnifi- 
cent in  taste  ;  each  is  desirous  of  power  and  conquest. 
Each  acts  as  a  spur  to  the  others  both  in  peace  and 
in  war.  They  introduce  the  cultivated  tastes,  the 
refined  habits,  the  freedom  of  thought  of  modern 
life,  and  from  the  period  in  which  they  flourish 
modern  history  dates. 

Of  these  three  monarchs  Francis  is  the  boldest, 
cleverest,  and  most  profligate.  The  elegance,  refine- 
ment, and  luxury  of  his  court  are  unrivalled  ;  and 
this  luxury  strikes  the  senses  from  its  contrast  with 
the  frugal  habits  of  the  ascetic  Louis  XI.  and  the 
homely  Louis  XII. 


VOL.    I. — I 


2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

His  reign  educated  Europe.  If  ambition  led  him 
towards  Italy,  it  was  as  much  to  capture  the  arts  of 
that  classic  land  and  to  bear  them  back  in  triumph 
to  France,  as  to  acquire  the  actual  territory.  Francis 
introduced  the  French  Renaissance,  that  subtle 
union  of  elaborate  ornamentation  with  purity  of 
design  which  was  the  renovation  of  art.  When  and 
how  he  acquired  such  exact  appreciation  of  the  beau- 
tiful is  unexplained.  That  he  possessed  judgment 
and  taste  is  proved  by  the  monuments  he  left  be- 
hind, and  by  his  patronage  of  the  greatest  masters  of 
their  several  arts. 

The  wealth  of  beauty  and  colour,  the  flowing 
lines  of  almost  divine  expression  in  the  \vorks  of  the 
Italian  painters  of  the  Cinque-cento,  delighted  the 
sensuous  soul  of  Francis.  Wherever  he  lived  he 
gathered  treasures  of  their  art  around  him.  Such  a 
nature  as  his  had  no  sympathy  with  the  meritorious 
but  precise  elaboration  of  the  contemporary  Dutch 
school,  led  by  the  Van  Eycks  and  Holbein.  It  was 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  the  head  of  the  Milanese  school, 
who  blended  power  and  tenderness,  that  Francis 
delighted  to  honour.  He  brought  Cellini,  Primaticcio, 
and  Leonardo  from  Italy,  and  never  wearied  of  their 
company.  He  established  the  aged  Leonardo  at  the 
Chateau  de  Clos,  near  his  own  castle  of  Amboise, 
where  the  painter  is  said  to  have  died  in  the  arms  of 
his  royal  patron. 

As  an  architect,  Francis  left  his  mark  beyond  any 
other  sovereign  of  Europe.  He  transformed  the 
gloomy  fortress-home — embattled,  turreted,  and 
moated — into  the  elaborately  decorated,  manorial 
chateau.  The  bare  and  foot-trodden  space  without, 


Francis  I.  3 

enclosed  with  walls  of  defence,  was  changed  into 
green  lawns  and  overarching  bowers  breaking  the 
vista  toward  the  royal  forest,  the  flowing  river,  and 
the  open  campagne. 

Francis  had  a  mania  for  building.  Like  Louis 
XIV.,  who  in  the  century  following  built  among  the 
sandhills  of  Versailles,  Francis  insisted  on  creating  a 
fairy  palace  amid  the  flat  and  dusty  plains  of  Sologne. 
Here  the  Renaissance  was  to  achieve  its  triumph.  At 
Chambord,  near  Blois,  were  massed  every  device, 
decoration,  and  eccentricity  of  his  favourite  style.  So 
identified  is  this  place  with  its  creator,  that  even  his 
intriguing  life  peeps  out  in  the  double  staircase  under 
the  central  tower — representing  a  gigantic  fleur-de- 
lys  in  stone — where  those  who  ascend  are  invisible  to 
those  who  descend  ;  in  the  doors,  concealed  in 
sliding  panels  behind  the  arras  ;  and  in  many  double 
walls  and  secret  stairs. 

Azay  le  Rideau,  built  on  a  beautifully  wooded 
island  on  the  river  Indre,  though  less  known  than 
Chambord,  was  and  is  an  exquisite  specimen  of  the 
Renaissance.  It  owes  the  fascination  of  its  graceful 
outlines  and  peculiar  ornamentation  to  the  master- 
hand  which  has  graven  his  crowned  F  and  Sala- 
mander on  its  quaint  facades.  The  Louvre  and 
Fontainebleau  are  also  signed  by  these  monograms. 
He,  and  his  son  Henry  II.,  made  these  piles  the 
historic  monuments  we  now  behold. 

Such  was  Francis,  the  artist.  As  a  soldier,  he 
followed  in  the  steps  of  Bayard,  "  Sans  peur  et  sans 
reproche."  He  perfected  that  poetic  code  of  honour 
which  reconciles  the  wildest  courage  with  generosity 
towards  an  enemy.  A  knight-errant  in  love  of  danger 


4  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

and  adventure,  Francis  comes  to  us  as  the  perfect 
type  of  the  chivalrous  Frenchman  ;  ready  to  do  battle 
on  any  provocation  either  as  king  or  gentleman, 
either  at  the  head  of  his  army,  in  the  tournament,  or 
in  the  duello.  He  loved  all  that  was  gay,  bright,  and 
beautiful.  He  delighted  in  the  repose  of  peace,  yet 
no  monarch  ever  plunged  his  country  into  more 
ruinous  and  causeless  wars.  Though  capable  of  the 
tenderest  and  purest  affection,  no  man  was  ever 
more  heartless  and  cruel  in  principle  and  conduct. 

Francis,  Due  de  Valois,*  was  educated  at  home  by 
his  mother,  Madame  Louise  de  Savoie,  Duchesse 
d'Angouleme,  Regent  of  France,  together  with  his 
brilliant  sister,  Marguerite,  "  the  pearl  of  the  Valois," 
poetess,  story-teller,  artist,  and  politician.  Each  of 
these  royal  ladies  was  tenderly  attached  to  the  clever, 
handsome  youth,  and  together  formed  what  they 
chose  to  call  "  a  trinity  of  love."  The  old  Castle  of 
Amboise,  in  Touraine,  the  favourite  abode  of  Louis 
XII.,  continued  to  be  their  home  after  his  death. 
Here,  too,  the  hand  of  Francis  is  to  be  traced  in 
sculptured  windows  and  architectural  fagades,  in 
noble  halls  and  broad  galleries,  and  in  the  stately 
terraced  gardens  overlooking  the  Loire  which  flows 
beneath  its  walls.  Here,  under  the  formal  lime 
alleys  and  flowering  groves,  or  in  the  shadow  of  the 
still  fortified  bastions,  the  brother  and  sister  sat  or 
wandered  side  by  side,  on  many  a  summer  day  ;  read 
and  talked  of  poetry  and  troubadours,  of  romance 
and  chivalry,  of  Arthur,  Roland,  and  Charlemagne, 
of  spells  and  witcheries,  and  of  Merlin  the  enchanter 
whose  magic  failed  before  a  woman's  glance. 
*See  Note  i. 


FRANCIS    I. 


Francis  I.  5 

Printing  at  that  time  having  become  general,  litera- 
ture of  all  kinds  circulated  in  every  direction,  stirring 
men's  minds  with  fresh  tides  of  knowledge.  Mar- 
guerite de  Valois,  who  was  called  "  the  tenth  Muse," 
dwelt  upon  poetry  and  fiction,  and  already  meditated 
her  Boccaccio-like  stories,  afterwards  to  be  published 
under  the  title  of  the  Heptameron.  Francis  gloated 
over  such  adventures  as  were  detailed  in  the 
roundelay  of  the  "  Four  Sons  of  Aymon,"  a  ballad 
of  that  day,  devoured  the  history  of  Amadis  de 
Ga2il,  and  tried  his  hand  in  twisting  many  a  love- 
rhyme,  after  the  fashion  of  the  "  Romaunt  of  the 
Rose." 

In  such  an  idyllic  life  of  love,  of  solitude,  and  of 
thought,  full  of  the  humanising  courtesies  of  family 
life,  was  formed  the  paradoxical  character  of  Francis, 
who  above  all  men  possessed  what  the  French  describe 
as  "  the  reverse  of  his  qualities/'  His  fierce  passions 
still  slumbered,  his  imagination  was  filled  with  poetry, 
his  heart  beat  high  with  the  endearing  love  of  a 
brother  and  a  son.  His  reckless  courage  vented  itself 
in  the  chase,  among  the  royal  forests  of  Amboise  and 
of  Chanteloup,  that  darkened  the  adjacent  hills,  or  in 
a  tustle  with  the  boorish  citizens,  or  travelling  mer- 
chants, in  the  town  below. 

Thus  he  grew  into  manhood,  his  stately  yet  con- 
descending manners,  handsome  person,  and  romantic 
courage  gaining  him  devoted  adherents.  Yet  when 
we  remember  that  Francis  served  as  the  type  for 
Hugo's  play  of  Le  Roi  s  amuse  we  pause  and — 
shudder. 


6  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

CHAPTER   II. 

CHARLES   DE   BOURBON. 

THE  Court  is  at  Amboise.  Francis  is  only  twenty, 
and  still  solicits  the  advice  of  his  mother,  Louise 
de  Savoie,  regent  during  his  minority.  Marguerite, 
now  married  to  the  Due  d'Alengon,  has  also  consider- 
able influence  over  him.  Both  these  princesses,  who 
are  with  him  at  Amboise,  insist  on  the  claims  of  their 
kinsman,  Charles  de  Montpensier,  Due  de  Bourbon, 
— in  right  of  his  wife,  Suzanne,  only  daughter  and 
heiress  of  Pierre,  the  last  duke, — to  be  appointed 
Constable  of  France.  It  is  an  office  next  in  power 
to  the  sovereign,  and  has  not  been  revived  since  the 
treasonable  conspiracy  of  the  Comte  de  St.  Pol,  in 
the  reign  of  Louis  XI. 

Bourbon  is  only  twenty-six,  but  he  is  already  a 
hero.  He  has  braved  death  again  and  again  in  the 
battle-field  with  dauntless  valour.  In  person  he  is  tall 
and  handsome.  In  manners,  he  is  frank,  bold,  and 
prepossessing  ;  but  when  offended,  his  proud  nature 
easily  turns  to  vindictive  and  almost  savage  revenge. 
Invested  with  the  double  dignity  of  General  of  the 
royal  forces  and  Constable  of  France,  he  comes  to 
Amboise  to  salute  the  King  and  the  princesses,  who 
are  both' strangely  interested  in  his  career,  and  to  take 
the  last  commands  from  Francis,  who  does  not  now 
propose  accompanying  his  army  into  Italy. 

There  is  a  restless,  mobile  expression  on  Bourbon's 
dark  yet  comely  face,  that  tells  of  strong  passions  ill 
suppressed.  A  man  capable  of  ardent  and  devoted 


Charles  de  Bourbon.  7 

love,  and  of  bitter  hate  ;  his  marriage  with  his  cousin 
Suzanne,  lately  dead,  had  been  altogether  a  political 
alliance  to  bring  him  royal  kindred,  wealth,  and 
power.  Suzanne  had  failed  to  interest  his  heart.  It 
is  said  that  another  passion  has  long  engaged  him. 
Francis  may  have  some  hint  as  to  who  the  lady  is, 
and  may  resent  Bourbon's  presumption.  At  all 
events,  the  Constable  is  no  favourite  with  the  King. 
He  dislikes  his  fanfaronnade  and  haughty  address. 
He  loves  not  either  to  see  a  subject  of  his  own  age 
so  powerful  and  so  magnificent ;  it  trenches  too  much 
on  his  own  prerogatives  of  success.  Besides,  as  lads, 
Bourbon  and  Francis  had  quarrelled  at  a  game  of 
maillc.  The  King  had  challenged  Bourbon  but  had 
never  fought  him,  and  Bourbon  resented  this  refusal 
as  an  affront  to  his  honour. 

The  Constable,  mounted  on  a  splendid  charger, 
with  housings  of  black  velvet,  and  attended  by  a 
brilliant  suite,  gallops  into  the  courtyard.  His  fine 
person  is  set  off  by  a  rich  surcoat,  worn  over  a  suit 
of  gilded  armour.  He  wears  a  red  and  white  panache 
in  his  helmet,  and  his  sword  and  dagger  are  thickly 
incrusted  with  diamonds. 

At  the  top  of  the  grand  staircase  are  posted  one 
hundred  archers,  royal  pages  conduct  the  Constable 
through  the  range  of  state  apartments. 

The  King  receives  Bourbon  in  the  great  gallery 
hung  with  tapestry.  He  is  seated  on  a  chair  of  state, 
ornamented  with  elaborate  carving,  on  which  the 
arms  of  France  are  in  high  relief.  This  chair  is 
placed  on  a  raised  floor,  or  dais,  covered  with  a 
carpet.  Beside  him  stands  the  grand  master  of  the 
ceremonies,  who  introduces  the  Constable  to  the 


8  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

King.  Francis,  who  inclines  his  head  and  raises  his 
cap  for  an  instant,  is  courteous  but  cold.  Marguerite 
d'Alengon  is  present ;  like  Bourbon,  she  is  unhappily 
mated.  The  Due  d'Alen^on  is,  physically  and  men- 
tally, her  inferior.  When  the  Constable  salutes  the 
King,  Marguerite  stands  apart.  Conscious  that  her 
brother's  eyes  read  her  thoughts,  she  blushes  deeply 
and  averts  her  face.  Bourbon  advances  to  the  spot 
where  she  is  seated  in  the  recess  of  an  oriel  window. 
He  bows  low  before  her  ;  Marguerite  rises,  and  offers 
him  her  hand.  Their  eyes  meet.  There  is  no  dis- 
guise in  the  passionate  glance  of  the  Constable ; 
Marguerite,  confused  and  embarrassed,  turns  away. 

"  Has  your  highness  no  word  of  kindness  for  your 
kinsman  ?  "  says  the  Constable,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  know,  cousin,  your  interests  are  ever  dear 
to  me,"  replies  she,  in  the  same  tone ;  then,  curtsey- 
ing deeply  to  the  King,  she  takes  the  arm  of  her 
husband,  M.  d'Alengon,  who  was  killing  flies  at  the 
window,  and  leaves  the  gallery. 

"  Diable  !  "  says  Francis  to  his  confidant,  Claude 
de  Guise,  in  an  undertone ;  "  My  sister  is  scarcely 
civil  to  the  Constable.  Did  you  observe,  she  hardly 
answered  him  ?  All  the  better.  It  will  teach  Bourbon 
humility,  and  not  to  look  too  high  for  a  mate." 

"  Yet  her  highness  pleaded  eagerly  with  your 
Majesty  for  his  advancement." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  that  was  to  please  our  mother.  Suzanne 
de  Bourbon  was  her  cousin,  and  the  Regent  promised 
her  before  her  death  to  support  her  husband's 
claims." 

Meanwhile,  the  Constable  receives,  with  a  some- 
what reserved  and  haughty  civility,  the  compliments 


Charles  de  Bourbon.  9 

of  the  Court.  He  is  conscious  of  an  antagonistic 
atmosphere.  It  is  well  known  that  the  King  loves 
him  not ;  and  whom  the  King  loves  not  neither  does 
the  courtier. 

A  page  then  approaches,  and  invites  the  Constable, 
in  the  name  of  Queen  Claude,  to  join  her  afternoon 
circle.  Meanwhile,  he  is  charged  to  conduct  the 
Constable  to  an  audience  with  the  Regent-mother, 
who  awaits  him  in  her  apartments. 

The  King  had  been  cool  and  the  Princess  silent 
and  reserved  :  not  so  the  Regent  Louise  de  Savoie, 
who  advances  to  meet  the  Constable  with  unmistak- 
able eagerness. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  my  cousin,"  she  says,  holding 
out  both  her  hands  to  him,  which  he  receives  kneel- 
ing, "on  the  dignity  with  which  my  son  has  invested 
you.  I  may  add,  that  I  was  not  altogether  idle  in 
the  matter." 

"Your  highness  will,  I  hope,  be  justified  in  the 
favour  you  have  shown  me,"  replies  the  Constable, 
coldly. 

"  Be  seated,  my  cousin,"  continues  Louise.  "  I 
have  desired  to  see  you  alone  that  I  might  fully 
explain  with  what  grief  I  find  myself  obliged,  by  the 
express  orders  of  my  son,  to  dispute  with  a  kinsman 
I  so  much  esteem  as  yourself  "—she  pauses  a  mo- 
ment, the  Constable  bows  gravely — "the  inheritance 
of  my  poor  cousin,  your  wife,  Madame  Suzanne  de 
Bourbon.  Suzanne  was  dear  to  me,  and  you  also, 
Constable,  have  a  high  place  in  my  regard." 

Louise  ceases.  She  looks  significantly  at  the 
Constable,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  answer ;  but 
he  does  not  reply,  and  again  bows. 


io  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  I  am  placed,"  continues  the  Regent,  the  colour 
gathering  on  her  cheek,  "  in  a  most  painful  alter- 
native. The  Chancellor  has  insisted  on  the  legality 
of  my  claims — claims  on  the  inheritance  of  your  late 
wife,  daughter  of  Pierre,  Due  de  Bourbon,  my  cousin. 
I  will  not  trouble  you  with  details.  My  son  urges 
the  suit.  My  own  feelings  plead  strongly  against 
proceeding  any  further  in  the  matter."  She  hesitates 
and  stops. 

"  Your  highness  is  of  course  aware  that  the  loss 
of  this  suit  would  be  absolute  ruin  to  me  ?  "  says 
Bourbon,  looking  hard  at  Louise. 

"  I  fear  it  would  be  most  disastrous  to  your  for- 
tunes. That  they  are  dear  to  me,  judge — you  are 
by  my  interest  made  Constable  of  France,  second 
only  in  power  to  my  son." 

"  I  have  already  expressed  my  gratitude,  madame." 

"  But,  Constable,"  continues  Louise  de  Savoie, 
speaking  with  much  animation,  "  why  have  you  in- 
sisted on  your  claims — why  not  have  trusted  to  the 
gratitude  of  the  King  towards  a  brave  and  zealous 
subject  ?  Why  not  have  counted  on  myself,  who 
have  both  power  and  will,  as  I  have  shown,  to 
protect  you  ?" 

"  The  generosity  of  the  King  and  your  highness's 
favour,  which  I  accept  with  gratitude,  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  legal  rights  of  my  late  wife's  inheri- 
tance. I  desire  not,  madame,  to  be  beholden  in  such 
matters  even  to  your  highness  or  to  his  Majesty." 

"  Well,  Constable,  well,  as  you  will ;  you  are,  I 
know,  of  a  proud  and  noble  nature.  But  I  have 
desired  earnestly,"  and  the  Regent  rises  and  places 
herself  on  another  chair  nearer  the  Constable,  "  to 


Charles  de  Bourbon.  1 1 

ascertain  from  your  own  lips  if  this  suit  cannot  be 
settled  a  r amiable.  There  are  many  means  of 
accommodating  a  lawsuit,  Duke.  Madame  Anne, 
wife  of  two  kings  of  France,  saved  Brittany  from 
cruel  wars  in  a  manner  worthy  of  imitation." 

"Truly,"  replies  Bourbon,  with  a  sigh;  "but  I 
know7  not  what  princess  of  the  blood  would  enable 
me  to  accommodate  your  highness's  suit  in  so 
agreeable  a  manner." 

"  Have  you  not  yourself  formed  some  opinion  on 
the  subject?"  asks  Louise,  looking  at  the  Constable 
with  undisguised  tenderness. 

"  No,  madame,  I  have  not.  Since  the  hand  of 
your  beautiful  daughter,  Madame  Marguerite,  is 
engaged,  I  know  no  one." 

"  But — "  and  she  hesitates,  and  again  turns  her 
eyes  upon  him,  which  the  Constable  does  not  ob- 
serve, as  he  is  adjusting  the  hilt  of  his  dagger — "  but 
— you  forget,  Duke,  that  I  am  a  widow." 

As  she  speaks  she  places  her  hand  upon  that  of 
the  Constable,  and  gazes  into  his  face.  Bourbon 
starts  violently  and  looks  up.  Louise  de  Savoie,  still 
holding  his  hand,  meets  his  gaze  with  an  unmistak- 
able expression.  She  is  forty  years  old,  but  vain 
and  intriguing.  There  is  a  pause.  Then  the  Con- 
stable rises  and  drops  the  hand  which  had  rested  so 
softly  upon  his  own.  His  handsome  face  darkens 
into  a  look  of  disgust.  A  flush  of  rage  sends  the 
blood  tingling  to  the  cheeks  of  Louise. 

"Your  highness  mistakes  me,"  says  Bourbon. 
"  The  respect  I  owe  to  his  Majesty,  the  disparity  of 
our  years,  my  own  feelings,  all  render  such  an  union 
impossible.  Your  highness  does  me  great  honour, 


1 2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

but  I  do  not  at  present  intend  to  contract  any  other 
alliance.  If  his  Majesty  goes  to  law  with  me,  why 
I  will  fight  him,  madame, — that  is  all." 

"  Enough,"  answers  Louise,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  I 
understand."  The  Constable  makes  a  profound 
obeisance  and  retires. 

This  interview  was  the  first  act  in  that  long  and 
intricate  drama  by  which  the  spite  of  a  mortified 
woman  drove  the  Due  de  Bourbon — the  greatest 
general  of  his  age,  under  whom  the  arms  of  France 
never  knew  defeat — to  become  a  traitor  to  his  king 
and  to  France. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BROTHER   AND    SISTER. 

YEARS  have  passed  ;  Francis,  with  his  wife,  Queen 
Claude,  daughter  of  Louis  XII.  and  Anne  of 
Brittany,  is  at  Chambord,  in  the  Touraine.  Claude,  but 
for  the  Salic  law,  would  have  been  Queen  of  France. 
In  her  childhood,  she  was  affianced  to  Charles,  son 
of  Philip  the  Fair,  afterwards  Charles  V.  of  Germany, 
the  great  rival  of  Francis.  Francis  had  never  loved 
her,  the  union  had  been  political ;  yet  Claude  is 
gentle  and  devoted,  and  he  says  of  her,  "  that  her 
soul  is  as  a  rose  without  a  thorn."  This  queen — the 
darling  of  her  parents — can  neither  bear  the  indiffer- 
ence nor  the  infidelity  of  her  brilliant  husband,  and 
dies  of  her  neglected  love  at  the  early  age  of  twenty- 
five. 


Brother  and  Sister.  1 3 

Marguerite  d'Alencon,  the  Duke  her  husband,  and 
the  Court,  are  assembled  for  hunting  in  the  forests 
of  Sologne.  Chambord,  then  but  a  gloomy  mediaeval 
fortress  lying  on  low  swampy  lands  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Casson,  is  barely  large  enough  to  accom- 
modate the  royal  party.  Already  Francis  meditates 
many  changes;  the  course  of  the  river  Loire,  some 
fifteen  miles  distant,  is  to  be  turned  in  order  to 
bathe  the  walls  of  a  sumptuous  palace,  not  yet  fully 
conceived  in  the  brain  of  the  royal  architect. 

It  is  spring ;  Francis  is  seated  in  the  broad  em- 
brasure of  an  oriel  window,  in  an  oak-panelled  saloon 
which  looks  towards  the  surrounding  forest.  He 
eagerly  watches  the  gathering  clouds  that  veil  the  sun 
and  threaten  to  prevent  the  boar-hunt  projected  for 
that  morning.  Beside  him,  in  the  window,  sits  his 
sister  Marguerite.  She  wears  a  black  velvet  riding- 
habit,  faced  with  gold  ;  her  luxuriant  hair  is  gathered 
into  a  net  under  a  plumed  hat  on  which  a  diamond 
aigrette  glistens.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
Queen  Claude  is  seated  on  a  high-backed  chair,  richly 
carved,  in  the  midst  of  her  ladies.  She  is  embroider- 
ing an  altar-cloth  ;  her  face  is  pale  and  very  plaintive. 
She  is  young,  and  though  not  beautiful,  there  is  an 
angelic  expression  in  her  large  grey  eyes,  a  dimpling 
sweetness  about  her  mouth,  that  indicate  a  nature 
worthy  to  have  won  the  love  of  any  man,  not  such  a 
libertine  as  Francis.  Her  dress  is  plain  and  rich,  of 
grey  satin  trimmed  with  ermine ;  a  jewelled  coif  is 
upon  her  head.  She  bends  over  her  work,  now  and 
then  raising  her  wistful  eyes  with  an  anxious  look 
towards  the  King.  The  Queen's  habits  are  sedentary, 
and  the  issue  of  the  hunting  party  is  of  no  personal 


14  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

interest  to  her  ;  she  always  remains  at  home  with  her 
children  and  ladies.  Many  attendant  lords,  attired 
for  hunting,  are  waiting  his  Majesty's  pleasure  in  the 
adjoining  gallery. 

"  Marguerite,"  says  the  King,  turning  to  the  Du- 
chesse  d'Alengon,  as  the  sun  reappears  out  of  a  bank 
of  cloud,  "  the  weather  mends ;  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  we  shall  start.  Meanwhile,  dear  sister,  sit  beside 
me.  Morbleu,  how  well  that  riding-dress  becomes 
you  !  You  are  very  handsome,  and  worthy  to  be 
called  the  Rose  of  the  Valois.  There  are  few  royal 
ladies  in  our  Court  to  compare  to  you  "  ;  and  Francis 
glances  significantly  at  his  gentle  Queen,  busy  over 
her  embroidery,  as  if  to  say — "  Would  that  she 
resembled  you  !  " 

Marguerite,  proud  of  her  brother's  praise,  reddens 
with  pleasure  and  reseats  herself  at  his  side.  "  By- 
and-by  I  shall  knock  down  this  sombre  old  fortress," 
continues  Francis,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the 
gloomy  facade,  "  and  transform  it  into  a  hunting 
chateau.  The  situation  pleases  me,  and  the  sur- 
rounding forest  is  full  of  game." 

"  My  brother,"  says  Marguerite,  interrupting  him 
and  speaking  in  an  earnest  voice,  for  her  eyes  have 
not  followed  the  direction  of  the  King's,  which  are 
fixed  on  the  prospect ;  she  seems  not  to  have  heard 
his  remarks,  and  her  bright  look  has  changed  into  an 
anxious  expression  ;  "  my  brother,  tell  me,  have  you 
decided  upon  the  absolute  ruin  of  Bourbon  ?  Think 
how  his  haughty  spirit  must  chafe  under  the  repeated 
marks  of  your  displeasure."  They  are  both  silent. 
Marguerite's  eyes  are  riveted  upon  the  King.  Francis 
is  embarrassed.  He  averts  his  face  from  the  sup- 


Brother  and  Sister.  1 5 

pliant  look  cast  upon  him  by  his  sister,  and  again 
turns  to  the  window,  as  if  to  watch  the  rapidly  pass- 
ing clouds. 

"  My  sister,"  he  says  at  length,  "  Bourbon  is  not  a 
loyal  subject ;  he  is  unworthy  of  your  regard." 

"  Sire,  I  cannot  believe  it.  Bourbon  is  no  traitor  ! 
But,  my  brother,  if  he  were,  have  you  not  tried  him 
sorely  ?  Have  you  not  driven  him  from  you  by  an 
intolerable  sense  of  injury?  Oh,  Francis,  remember 
he  is  our  kinsman,  your  most  zealous  servant ; — did 
he  not  save  your  life  at  Marignano?  Who  among 
your  generals  is  cool,  daring,  valiant,  wise  as  Bour- 
bon ?  Has  he  not  borne  our  flag  triumphantly  through 
Italy  ?  Have  the  French  troops  under  him  ever 
known  defeat  ?  Yet,  my  brother,  you  have  now 
publicly  disgraced  him."  Her  voice  trembles  with 
emotion  ;  she  is  very  pale,  and  her  eyes  fill  with  tears. 

"  By  the  mass,  Marguerite,  no  living  soul,  save 
our  mother,  would  dare  to  address  me  thus !  "  ex- 
claims the  King,  turning  towards  her.  He  is  much 
moved.  Then,  examining  her  countenance,  he  adds, 
"  You  are  strangely  agitated,  my  sister.  What  con- 
cern have  you  with  the  Constable  ?  Believe  me,  I 
have  made  Bourbon  too  powerful." 

"  Not  now,  not  now,  Francis,  when  you  have,  at 
the  request  of  a  woman — of  Madame  de  Chateau- 
briand too — taken  from  him  the  government  of 
Milan  ;  when  he  is  superseded  in  his  command  ; 
when  our  mother  is  pressing  on  him  a  ruinous  suit, 
with  your  sanction." 

At  the  name  of  Madame  de  Chateaubriand  Mar- 
guerite's whole  countenance  darkens  with  anger,  the 
King's  face  grows  crimson. 


1 6  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  My  sister,  you  plead  Bourbon's  cause  warmly — 
too  warmly,  methinks,"  and  Francis  turns  his  head 
aside  to  conceal  his  confusion. 

"  Not  only  has  your  Majesty  taken  from  him  the 
government  of  Milan, "continues  Marguerite,  bitterly, 
unheeding  the  King's  interruption,  "  but  he  has  been 
replaced  by  Lautrec,  brother  of  Madame  de  Chateau- 
briand, an  inexperienced  soldier,  unfitted  for  such  an 
important  post.  Oh,  my  brother,  you  are  driving 
Bourbon  to  despair.  So  great  a  general  cannot  hang 
up  his  victorious  sword." 

"  By  my  faith,  sister,  you  press  me  hard,"  replies 
the  King,  recovering  the  gentle  tone  with  which  he 
always  addressed  her ;  "  I  will  communicate  with  my 
council ;  what  you  have  said  shall  be  duly  considered. 
Meanwhile,  if  Bourbon  inspires  you  with  such  inter- 
est, as  it  seems  he  does,  tell  him  to  humble  his 
pride  and  submit  himself  to  us,  his  sovereign  and 
his  master.  If  he  do,  he  shall  be  greater  than  ever, 
I  promise  you."  As  he  speaks,  he  glances  at  Mar- 
guerite, whose  eyes  fall  to  the  ground.  "  But  see, 
my  sister,  the  sun  is  shining ;  and  there  is  some  one 
already  mounting  in  the  courtyard.  Give  the  signal 
for  departure,  Comte  de  Saint-Vallier,"  says  the 
King  in  a  louder  voice,  turning  towards  two  gentle- 
men standing  at  an  opposite  window  in  the  gallery. 
The  King  has  to  repeat  his  command  before  the 
Comte  de  Saint-Vallier  hears  him.  "  Saint-Vallier, 
you  are  in  deep  converse  with  De  Pomperant.  Is  it 
love  or  war?  " 

"  Neither,  Sire,"  replies  the  Captain  of  the  Royal 
Archers,  looking  embarrassed. 

"  M.  de   Pomperant,  are  you   going   with  us    to- 


Brother  and  Sister.  1 7 

day  to  hunt  the  boar?"  says  the  King,  advancing 
towards  them. 

"Sire,"  replies  De  Pomperant,  bowing  profoundly, 
"  your  Majesty  does  me  great  honour ;  but,  with 
your  leave,  I  will  not  accompany  the  hunt.  Urgent 
business  calls  me  from  Chambord." 

"Ah,  coquin,  it  is  an  assignation  ;  confess  it,"  and 
a  wicked  gleam  lights  up  the  King's  eyes. 

"  No,  Sire,"  says  De  Pomperant.  "  I  go  to  join 
the  Constable  de  Bourbon,  who  is  indisposed." 

"  Ah  !  to  join  the  Constable ! "  Francis  pauses 
and  looks  at  him.  "  I  know  he  is  your  friend,"  con- 
tinues he,  suddenly  becoming  very  grave.  "  Where 
is  he?" 

"  At  his  fortress  of  Chantelle,  Sire." 

"At  Chantelle!  a  fortified  place,  and  without  my 
permission.  Truly.  Monsieur  de  Pomperant,  your 
friend  is  a  daring  subject.  What  if  I  will  not  trust 
you  in  his  company,  and  command  your  attendance 
on  our  person  here  at  Chambord  ?  " 

"  Then,  Sire,  I  should  obey,"  replies  De  Pompe- 
rant ;  "  but  let  your  gracious  Majesty  remember  the 
Due  de  Bourbon  is  ill ;  he  is  a  broken  and  ruined 
man,  deprived  of  your  favour.  Chantelle  is  more  a 
chateau  than  a  fortress." 

"  Go,  De  Pomperant ;  I  did  but  jest.  Tell  Bour- 
bon, on  the  word  of  a  king,  that  he  has  warm  friends 
near  my  person  ;  that  if  the  Regent-mother  gains  her 
suit  against  him,  I  will  restore  tenfold  to  him  in 
money,  kinds,  and  honour.  Adieu,  Monsieur  de 
Pomperant.  You  are  dismissed.  Bon  voyage." 

Now,  the  truth  was  that  De  Pomperant  had  come 
to  Chambord  upon  a  secret  mission  from  Bourbon, 


1 8  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

who  wished  to  assure  himself  of  those  gentlemen  of 
the  Court  upon  whom  he  could  rely  in  case  of  rebel- 
lion. The  Comte  de  Saint-Vallier  had  just,  while 
standing  at  the  window,  pledged  his  word  to  stand 
by  Bourbon  for  life  or  death. 

The  King  is  now  mounting  his  horse  in  the  court- 
yard, a  noble  bay  with  glittering  harness.  He  gives 
the  signal  of  departure,  which  is  echoed  through  the 
woodland  recesses  by  the  bugles  of  the  huntsmen. 
A  lovely  lady  attired  in  white  has  joined  the  royal 
retinue  in  the  courtyard.  She  rides  on  in  front  be- 
side the  King,  who,  the  better  to  converse  with  her, 
has  placed  his  hand  upon  her  horse's  neck.  This  is 
Franchise,  Comtesse  de  Chateaubriand,  the  favourite 
of  the  hour — at  whose  request  Bourbon  had  been 
superseded  in  the  government  of  Milan  by  her  brother 
Lautrec. 

Behind  this  pair  rides  Marguerite  d'Alengon  with 
her  husband,  the  Comte  de  Guise,  Montmorenci, 
Bonnivet,  and  other  nobles.  A  large  cavalcade  of 
courtiers  follows.  Since  her  conversation  with  her 
brother,  Marguerite  looks  thoughtful  and  anxious. 
She  is  so  absent  that  she  does  not  even  hear  the 
prattle  of  her  husband,  who  is  content  to  talk  and 
cares  not  for  reply.  On  reaching  the  dense  thickets 
of  the  forest  she  suddenly  reins  up  her  horse,  and, 
falling  back  a  little,  beckons  the  Comte  de  Saint- 
Vallier  to  her  side. 

"  M.  le  Comte,"  she  says  in  a  loud  voice,  so  as  to 
be  overheard  by  her  husband  and  the  other  gentle- 
men riding  in  advance,  "tell  me  when  is  the  Court 
to  be  graced  by  the  presence  of  your  incomparable 


Brother  and  Sister.  1 9 

daughter,  Madame  Diane,  Grande  Seneschale  of 
Normandy?  " 

"  Madame,"  replies  Saint-Vallier,  "  her  husband, 
Monseigneur  de  Breze,  is  much  occupied  in  his  dis- 
tant government.  Diane  is  young,  much  younger 
than  her  husband.  The  Court,  madame,  is  danger- 
ously full  of  temptations  to  the  young." 

"  We  lose  a  bright  jewel  by  her  absence,"  says 
Marguerite,  abstractedly.  "  M.  le  Comte,"  she  con- 
tinues in  a  low  voice,  speaking  quickly,  and  motion- 
ing to  him  with  her  hand  to  approach  nearer,  "  I 
have  something  private  to  say  to  you.  Ride  close 
by  my  side.  You  are  a  friend  of  the  Constable  de 
Bourbon?"  she  asks  eagerly. 

"Yes,  madame,  I  am." 

"  You  are,  perhaps,  his  confidant  ?  Speak  freely 
to  me  ;  I  feel  deeply  the  misfortunes  of  the  Duke.  I 
would  aid  him  if  I  could.  Is  there  any  foundation 
for  the  suspicion  with  which  my  brother  regards  him  ? 
You  will  not  deceive  me,  Monsieur  de  Poitiers?" 

Saint-Vallier  does  not  answer  at  once.  "  The 
Constable  de  Bourbon  will  never,  I  trust,  betray  his 
Majesty,"  replies  he  at  last,  with  hesitation. 

"Alas!  my  poor  cousin  !  Is  that  all  the  assurance 
you  can  give  me,  Monsieur  de  Saint-Vallier?  Oh! 
he  is  incapable  of  treason,"  exclaims  Marguerite  with 
enthusiasm  ;  "  I  would  venture  my  life  he  is  incapable 
of  treason ! " 

A  courier  passes  them  at  this  moment,  riding  with 
hot  speed.  He  nears  the  King,  who  is  now  far  on 
in  front,  and  who,  hearing  the  sound  of  the  horse's 
hoofs,  stops  and  listens.  The  messenger  hands  the 


2O  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

King  a  despatch.  Francis  hastily  breaks  the  seal. 
It  is  from  Lautrec,  the  new  governor  of  Milan. 
Bourbon  is  in  open  rebellion. 

Bourbon  in  open  rebellion  !     This  intelligence  ne- 
cessitates the  instant  presence  of  the  King  at  Paris. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   QUALITY   OF   MERCY. 

FRANCIS  is  at  the  Louvre,  surrounded  by  his  most 
devoted  friends  and  councillors,  Chabannes,  La 
Tr£mouille,  Bonnivet,  Montmorenci,  Crequi,  Cosse, 
De  Guise,  and  the  two  Du  Bellays.  The  Louvre  is 
still  the  isolated  stronghold,  castle,  palace,  and  prison, 
surrounded  by  moat,  walls,  and  bastions,  built  by 
Philippe  Auguste  on  the  grassy  margin  of  the  Seine. 
In  the  centre  of  the  inner  court  is  a  round  tower, 
also  moated,  and  defended  by  ramparts,  ill-famed  in 
feudal  annals  for  its  oubliettes  and  dungeons,  under 
which  the  river  flows.  Four  gates,  with  posterns  and 
towers,  open  from  the  Louvre ;  that  one*  opposite 
the  Seine  is  the  strongest.  The  southern  gate — 
which  is  low  and  narrow,  with  statues  on  either 
hand  of  Charles  V.  and  his  wife,  Jeanne  de  Bourbon 
— faces  the  Church  of  Saint-Germain  1'Auxerrois.* 
Beyond  are  gardens  and  orchards,  and  a  house  called 
Fromenteau,  where  lions  are  kept  for  the  King's 
amusement. 

These  are  the  days  of  stately  manners,  intellectual 
*  See  Note  2. 


DUG  DE  MONTMORENCI. 


The  Quality  of  Mercy.  2 1 

culture,  and  increasing  knowledge.  Personal  honour, 
as  from  man  to  man,  is  a  religion,  of  which  Bayard 
is  the  high  priest ;  treachery  to  woman,  a  virtue  in- 
culcated by  the  King.  The  idle,  vapid  life  of  later 
courts  is  unknown  under  a  monarch  who,  however 
addicted  to  pleasure,  cultivates  all  kinds  of  knowl- 
edge, whose  inquiring  intellect  seeks  to  master  all 
science,  to  whom  indolence  is  impossible.  His  very 
meals  are  chosen  moments  in  which  he  converses 
with  authors,  poets,  and  artists,  or  dictates  letters  to 
Erasmus  and  the  learned  Greek  Lascaris.  Such 
industry  and  dignity,  such  grace  and  condescension, 
gather  around  him  the  great  spirits  of  the  age.  He 
delights  in  their  company. 

It  is  the  King's  boast  that  he  has  introduced  into 
France  the  study  of  the  Greek  language,  Botany,  and 
Natural  History.  He  buys,  at  enormous  prices, 
pictures,  pottery,  enamels,  statues,  and  manuscripts. 
As  in  his  fervid  youth  at  Amboise,  he  loves  poetry 
and  poets.  Clement  Marot  is  his  chosen  guest,  and 
polishes  the  King's  rhymes,  of  which  some  delicate 
and  touching  stanzas  (those  on  Agnes  Sorel,*  espe- 
cially) have  come  down  to  us. 

Even  that  witty  heretic,  Rabelais,  found  both  an 
appreciative  protector  and  intelligent  friend  in  a 
sovereign  superior  to  the  prejudices  of  his  age.  With 
learning,  poetry,  wit,  and  intellect,  come  luxury  and 
boundless  extravagance.  Brantome  speaks  as  with 
bated  breath  of  the  royal  expenditure.  These  are 
the  days  of  broad  sombrero  hats  fringed  with  gold 
and  looped  up  with  priceless  jewels  and  feathers  ;  of 
embroidered  cloaks  in  costly  stuffs — heavy  with  gold 
*  See  Note  3. 


2  2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

or  silver  embroidery — hung  over  the  shoulder ;  of 
slashed  hose  and  richly  chased  rapiers ;  of  garments 
of  cloth-of-gold,  embroidered  with  armorial  bearings 
in  jewels ;  of  satin  justaucorps  covered  with  rivieres 
of  diamonds,  emeralds,  and  oriental  pearls ;  of  tor- 
sades  and  collars  wherein  gold  is  but  the  foil  to  price- 
less gems.  The  ladies  wear  Eastern  silks  and  golden 
tissues,  with  trimmings  of  rare  furs ;  wide  sleeves 
and  Spanish  fardingales,  sparkling  coifs  and  jewelled 
nets,  with  glittering  veils.  They  ride  in  ponderous 
coaches  covered  with  carving  and  gilding,  or  on 
horses  whose  pedigrees  are  as  undoubted  as  their 
own,  covered  with  velvet  housings  and  with  silken 
nets  woven  with  jewels,  their  manes  plaited  with 
gold  and  precious  stones.  But  these  illustrious  ladies 
consider  gloves  a  royal  luxury,  and  are  weak  in  respect 
of  stockings. 

Foremost  in  every  gorgeous  mode  is  Francis.  He 
wears  rich  Genoa  velvets,  and  affects  bright  colours 
— rose  and  sky-blue.  A  Spanish  hat  is  on  his  head, 
turned  up  with  a  white  plume,  fastened  to  an  aigrette 
of  rubies,  with  a  golden  salamander  his  device,  signi- 
fying, "  I  am  nourished  and  I  die  in  fire"  ("  Je  me 
nourris  et  je  meurs  dans  le  feu  "). 

How  well  we  know  his  dissipated  though  distin- 
guished features,  as  portrayed  by  Titian  !  His  long 
nose,  small  eyes,  broad  cheeks,  and  cynical  mouth. 
He  moves  with  careless  grace,  as  one  who  would 
say,  "  Que  mimporte  ?  I  am  King  of  France  ;  nought 
comes  amiss  to  me." 

Now  he  walks  up  and  down  the  council-room  in 
the  Louvre  which  looks  towards  the  river.  His  step 
is  quick  and  agitated,  his  face  wears  an  unusual 


The  Quality  of  Mercy.  23 

frown.    He  calls  Bonnivet  to  him  and  addresses  him 
in  a  low  voice,  while  the  other  nobles  stand  back. 

"  Am  I  to  believe  that  Bourbon  has  not  merely 
rebelled  against  me,  but  that  the  traitor  has  fled  into 
Spain  and  made  terms  with  Charles  ?  " 
"Your  Majesty's  information  is  precise." 
"  What  was  the  manner  of  his  flight  ?  " 
"  The  Duke,  Sire,  waited  at  his  fortress  of  Chan- 
telle  until  the  arrival  of  Monsieur  de  Pomperant 
from  your  Majesty's  Court  at  Chambord,  feigning 
sickness  and  remaining  shut  up  within  his  apartments. 
After  Monsieur  de  Pomp£rant's  arrival,  a  litter  was 
ordered  to  await  his  pleasure,  and  De  Pomperant, 
dressed  in  the  clothes  of  the  Duke  and  with  his  face 
concealed  by  a  hood,  was  carried  into  the  litter,  which 
started  for  Moulins,  travelling  slowly.  Meanwhile 
Bourbon,  accompanied  by  a  band  of  gentlemen,  was 
galloping  on  the  road  to  the  frontier.  He  was  last 
seen  at  Saint-Jean  de  Luz,  in  the  Pyrenees." 

"By  our  Lady!  "  exclaims  Francis,  "such  treason 
is  a  blot  upon  knighthood.  Bourbon,  a  man  whom 
we  had  made  as  great  as  ourselves!" 

"  The  Duke,  Sire,  left  a  message  for  your  J^ajesty." 
"  A  message  !     Where  ?  and  who  bore  it  ?  '^v 
"  De   Pomperant,  Sire,  who  has  already  been  ar- 
rested at  Moulins.     The  Duke  begged  your  Majesty 
to  take  back  the  sword  which  you  had  given  him, 
and  prayed  you  to  send  for  the  badge  which  he  left 
hanging  at  the  head  of  his  bed  at  Chantelle." 

"  Diable  !  does  the  villain  dare  to  point  his  jests  at 
his  sovereign?"  and  Francis  flushes  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair  with  passion.  "  I  wish  I  had  him  face  to 
face  in  a  fair  field  " — and  he  lays  his  land  on  the  hilt 


24  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

of  his  sword  ; — "  but  no,"  he  adds  in  a  calmer  voice, 
"  a  traitor's  blood  would  but  soil  my  weapon.  Let 
him  carry  his  perfidy  into  Spain — 't  will  suit  the 
Emperor ;  I  am  well  rid  of  him.  Are  there  many 
accomplices,  Bonnivet  ?  " 

"About  two  hundred,  Sire." 

"  Is  it  possible !     Do  we  know  them  ?  " 

"  The  Comte  de  Saint-Vallier,  Sire,  is  the  principal 
accomplice." 

"  What !  Saint-Vallier,  the  Captain  of  our  Archers  ! 
That  strikes  us  nearly.  This  conspiracy,  my  lords," 
says  Francis,  advancing  to  where  Guise,  La  Tr6- 
mouille,  Montmorenci,  and  the  others  stand  some- 
what apart  during  his  conversation  with  Bonnivet, 
"  is  much  more  serious  than  I  imagined.  I  must  re- 
main in  France  to  wait  the  issue  of  events.  You,  Bon- 
nivet, must  take  command  of  the  Italian  campaign." 

Bonnivet  kneels  and  kisses  the  hand  of  Francis. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  Jean  de  Poitiers,"  continues  Fran- 
cis, turning  to  Guise.  "  Are  the  proofs  against  him 
certain  ?  " 

"  Sire,  Saint-Vallier  accompanied  the  Constable  to 
the  frontier." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  repeats  the  King,  and  he  passes  his 
hand  thoughtfully  over  his  brow  and  muses. 

"  Jean  de  Poitiers,  my  ci-devant  Captain  of  the 
Guards,  is  the  father  of  a  charming  lady  ;  Madame 
Diane,  the  Seneschale  of  Normandy,  is  an  angel, 
though  her  husband,  De  Breze — hum — why,  he  is  a 
monster.  Vulcan  and  Venus— the  old  story,  eh,  my 
lords?" 

There  is  a  general  laugh. 

A  page  enters  and  announces  a  lady  humbly  crav- 


The  Quality  of  Mercy.  2  5 

ing  to  speak  with  his  Majesty.  The  King  smiles,  his 
wicked  eyes  glisten.  "Who?  what?  Do  I  know  her?" 

"  Sire,  the  lady  is  deeply  veiled  ;  she  desires  to 
speak  with  your  Majesty  alone." 

"But,  by  St.  Denis — do  I  know  her?" 

"  I  think,  Sire,  it  is  the  wife  of  the  Grand  Seneschal 
of  Normandy — Madame  Diane  de  Breze." 

There  is  a  pause,  some  whispering,  and  a  low 
laugh  is  heard.  The  King  looks  around  displeased. 
"I  am  not  surprised,"  says  he.  "When  I  heard  of 
the  father's  danger  I  expected  the  daughter's  inter- 
cession. Let  the  lady  enter." 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  dismisses  the  Court, 
and  seats  himself  on  a  chair  of  state  under  a  rich 
canopy  embroidered  in  gold  with  the  arms  of  France. 

Diane  enters.  She  is  dressed  in  long  black  robes 
which  sweep  the  floor.  Her  head  is  covered  with  a 
thick  lace  veil  which  she  raises  as  she  approaches 
the  King.  She  weeps,  but  her  tears  do  not  mar  her 
beauty,  which  is  absolutely  radiant.  She  is  exqui- 
sitely fair  and  wonderfully  fresh,  with  golden  hair 
and  dark  eyebrows — a  most  winsome  lady. 

She  throws  herself  at  the  King's  feet.  She  clasps 
her  hands.  Her  sobs  drown  her  voice. 

"  Pardon,  Sire,  pardon  my  father  !  "  she  at  length 
falters.  The  King  stoops  forward,  and  raises  her  to 
the  estrade  on  which  he  stands.  He  looks  tenderly 
into  her  soft  blue  eyes,  his  hands  are  locked  in  hers. 

"  Your  father,  madame,  my  old  and  trusted  servant, 
is  guilty  of  treason." 

"  Alas  !  Sire,  I  fear  so  ;  but  he  is  old,  too  old  for 
punishment.  He  has  been  hitherto  a  true  subject 
of  your  Majesty." 


26  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  He  is  blessed,  madame,  with  a  most  surpassing 
daughter."  Francis  pauses  and  looks  steadfastly  at 
her  with  eyes  of  ardent  admiration.  "  But  I  fear  I 
must  confirm  the  sentence  of  my  judges,  madame  ; 
your  father  is  certain  to  be  found  guilty  of  treason." 

"  Oh !  Sire,  mercy,  mercy !  grant  me  my  father's 
life,  I  implore  you  "  ;  and  again  Diane  falls  prostrate 
at  the  King's  feet,  and  looks  supplicatingly  into  his 
face.  Again  the  King  raises  her. 

"  Well,  madame,  you  are  aware  that  you  desire  the 
pardon  of  a  traitor ;  on  what  ground  do  you  ask  for 
his  life  ?  " 

"  Sire,  I  ask  it  for  the  sake  of  mercy ;  mercy  is  the 
privilege  of  kings,  "  and  her  soft  eyes  seek  those  of 
Francis  and  rest  upon  them.  "  I  have  come  so  far, 
too,  from  Normandy,  to  invoke  it — my  poor  father!  " 
and  she  sobs  again.  "  Your  Majesty  will  not  send 
me  back  refused,  broken-hearted  ?  "  Still  her  eyes 
are  fixed  upon  the  King. 

"  Mercy,  Madame  Diane,  is,  doubtless,  a  royal 
prerogative.  I  am  an  anointed  king,"  and  he  lets 
go  her  hands,  and  draws  himself  up  proudly,  "  and  I 
may  use  it ;  but  the  prerogative  of  a  woman  is  beauty. 
Beauty,  Madame  Diane,  "  adds  Francis,  with  a  glance 
at  the  lovely  woman  still  kneeling  at  his  feet,  "  is 
more  potent  than  a  king's  word." 

There  is  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Diane's  eyes 
are  now  bent  upon  the  ground,  her  bosom  heaves. 
Francis  contemplates  her  with  delight. 

"Will  you,  fair  lady,  deign  to  exercise  your 
prerogative?  " 

"  Truly,  Sire,  I  know  not  what  your  Majesty 
would  say,"  replies  Diane,  looking  down  and  blushing. 


The  Quality  of  Mercy,  2  7 

Something  in  his  eyes  gives  her  hope,  for  she 
starts  violently,  rises,  and  clasping  her  hands  together 
exclaims,  "  How,  Sire !  do  I  read  your  meaning 
aright?  can  I,  by  my  humble  service  to  your 
Majesty — 

"  Yes,  fair  lady,  you  can.  Your  presence  at  my 
Court,  where  your  adorable  beauty  shall  receive  due 
homage,  will  be  my  hostage  for  your  father's  loyalty. 
Madame  Diane,  I  declare  that  the  Comte  de  Saint- 
Vallier  is  PARDONED.  Though  he  had  rent  the 
crown  from  off  our  head,  your  father  is  pardoned. 
And  I  add,  madame,  that  it  was  the  charm  of  his 
daughter  that  rendered  a  refusal  impossible." 

Madame  Diane's  face  shines  like  April  sunshine 
through  rain-drops ;  a  smile  parts  her  lips,  and  her 
glistening  eyes  dance  with  joy  ;  she  is  more  lovely 
than  ever. 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  Sire  !  "  And  again  she  would 
have  knelt,  but  the  King  again  takes  her  hands, 
and  look'?  into  her  face  so  earnestly  that  she  again 
blushes. 

Did  that  look  of  the  King  fascinate  her  ?  or  did 
the  sudden  joy  of  saving  her  father  move  her  heart 
with  love  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  It  is  certain,  however, 
that  from  this  time  Diane  left  Normandy,  and 
became  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  that 
beauty-loving  Court.  Diane  was  a  woman  of  mascu- 
line understanding,  concealed  under  the  gentlest  and 
most  fascinating  manners  ;  but  she  was  also  mer- 
cenary, intriguing,  and  domineering.  Of  her  beauty 
we  may  judge  for  ourselves,  as  many  portraits  of  her 
are  extant,  especially  one  of  great  excellence  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  in  the  long  gallery  at  Chenonceau. 


28  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Diane  was  soon  forsaken,  but  the  ready-witted 
lady  consoled  herself  by  laying  siege  to  the  heart 
of  the  son  of  Francis,  Prince  Henry,  afterwards 
Henry  II. 

Henry  surrendered  at  discretion.  Nothing  can 
more  mark  the  freedom  of  the  times  than  this  liaison. 
Yet  both  these  ladies — Diane  de  Poitiers  and  her 
successor  in  the  favour  of  the  King,  the  Duchesse 
d'Etampes — were  constantly  in  the  society  of  two 
most  virtuous  queens — Claude,  and  Elinor  of  Spain, 
the  successive  wives  of  Francis. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ALL  LOST  SAVE  HONOUR. 

THE  next  scene  is  in  Italy.  The  French  army  lies 
encamped  on  the  broad  plains  of  Lombardy, 
backed  by  snowy  lines  of  Alpine  fastnesses. 

Bonnivet,  in  command  of  the  French,  presump- 
tuous and  inexperienced,  has  been  hitherto  defeated 
in  every  battle.  Bourbon,  fighting  on  the  side  of 
Spain,  is,  as  before,  victorious. 

Francis,  stung  by  the  repeated  defeat  of  his  troops, 
has  now  joined  the  army,  and  commands  in  person. 
Milan,  where  the  plague  rages,  has  opened  its  gates 
to  him ;  but  Pavia,  distant  about  twenty  miles,  is 
occupied  by  the  Spaniards  in  force.  Antonio  de 
Leyva  is  governor.  Thither  the  French  advance  in 
order  to  besiege  the  city. 


All  Lost  Save  Honoiir.  29 

The  open  country  is  defended  by  the  Spanish 
forces  under  Bourbon.  Francis,  maddened  by  the 
presence  of  his  cousin,  rushes  onward.  Montmorenci 
and  Bonnivet,  flatterers  both,  assure  him  that  victory 
is  certain  by  means  of  a  coup  de  main. 

It  is  night ;  the  days  are  short,  for  it  is  February. 
The  winter  moon  lights  up  the  rich  meadow  lands 
divided  by  the  broad  Ticino  and  broken  by  the  deep 
ditches  and  sluggish  streams  which  surround  the 
city.  Tower,  campanile,  dome,  and  turret,  with  here 
and  there  the  grim  fagade  of  a  mediaeval  palace, 
stand  out  in  the  darkness. 

Yonder  among  the  meadows  are  the  French,  dark- 
ening the  surrounding  plain.  Francis  knows  that 
the  Constable  is  advancing  to  support  the  garrison 
of  Pavia,  and  he  desires  to  carry  the  city  by  assault 
before  his  arrival.  Ever  too  rash,  and  now  excited 
by  a  passionate  sense  of  injury,  Francis,  with  D'Alen- 
9on,  De  la  Tremouille,  De  Foix,  and  Bonnivet,  leads 
the  attack  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry.  Now  he  is 
under  the  very  walls.  Despite  the  dim  moonlight, 
no  one  can  mistake  him.  He  wears  a  suit  of  steel 
armour  inlaid  with  gold  ;  a  crimson  surcoat,  embroid- 
ered with  gilt  "  F's  "  ;  a  helmet  encircled  by  a  jew- 
elled crown,  out  of  which  rises  a  yellow  plume  and 
golden  salamander.  For  an  instant  success  seems 
certain  ;  the  scaling-ladders  thick  with  soldiers  are 
already  planted  against  the  lowest  walls,  and  the 
garrison  retreats  under  cover  of  the  bastions.  A 
sudden  panic  seizes  the  troops  beneath,  who  are  to 
support  the  assault.  In  the  treacherous  moonlight 
they  have  fallen  into  confusion  among  the  deep, 
slimy  ditches  ;  many  are  drifted  away  in  the  current 


30  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

of  the  great  river.  A  murderous  cannonade  from 
the  city  walls  now  opens  on  the  assailants  and  on 
the  cavalry.  Francis  falls  back.  The  older  generals 
conjure  him  to  retreat  and  raise  the  siege  before  the 
arrival  of  Bourbon,  but,  backed  by  Bonnivet  and 
Montmorenci,  he  will  not  hear  of  it.  The  battle 
rages  during  the  night.  The  morning  light  discovers 
the  Spaniards  commanded  by  Bourbon  and  Pescara, 
with  the  whole  strength  of  their  army,  close  under 
the  walls.  Again  the  King  leads  a  fresh  assault — a 
forlorn  hope,  rather.  He  fights  desperately  ;  the  yel- 
low plumes  of  his  helmet  wave  hither  and  thither  as 
his  horse  dashes  wildly  from  side  to  side  amidst  the 
smoke,  in  the  thickest  of  the  battle.  See,  for  an  in- 
stant he  falters, — he  is  wounded  and  bleeding.  He 
recovers,  however,  and  again  clapping  spurs  to  his 
horse,  scatters  his  surrounding  foes  ;  six  have  already 
fallen  by  his  hand.  Look  !  his  charger  is  pierced  by 
a  ball  and  falls  with  his  rider.  After  a  desperate 
struggle  the  King  extricates  himself ;  now  on  foot, 
he  still  fights  furiously.  Alas  !  it  is  in  vain.  Every 
moment  his  enemies  thicken  around  him,  pressing 
closer  and  closer.  His  gallant  followers  drop  one  by 
one  under  the  unerring  aim  of  the  Basque  marksmen. 
La  Tremouille  has  fallen.  De  Foix  lies  a  corpse  at 
his  feet.  Bonnivet  in  despair  expiates  his  evil  counsel 
by  death.*  Every  shot  takes  from  him  one  of  the 
pillars  of  his  throne.  Francis  flings  himself  wildly 
on  the  points  of  the  Spanish  pikes.  The  Royal 
Guards  fall  like  summer  grass  before  the  sickle ;  but 
where  the  King  stands,  still  dealing  desperate  blows, 
the  bodies  of  the  slain  form  a  rampart  of  protection 
*  See  Note  4. 


All  Lost  Save  Honour.  3 1 

around  him.  His  very  enemies  stand  back  amazed 
at  such  furious  courage.  While  he  struggles  for  his 
life  hand  to  hand  with  D'Avila  and  D'Ovietta,  plume- 
less,  soiled,  and  bloody,  a  loud  cry  rises  from  a 
thousand  voices — "  It  is  the  King — LET  HIM  SUR- 
RENDER— Capture  the  King ! "  There  is  a  dead 
silence ;  the  Spanish  troops  fall  back.  A  circle  is 
formed  round  the  now  almost  fainting  Francis,  who 
lies  upon  the  blood-stained  earth.  De  Pomp^rant 
advances.  He  kneels  before  the  master  whom  he 
has  betrayed,  he  implores  him  to  yield  to  Bourbon. 

At  that  hated  name  the  King  starts  into  fresh 
fury  ;  he  grasps  his  sword,  he  struggles  to  his  feet. 
"  Never,"  cries  he  in  a  hoarse  voice  ;  "  never  will  I 
surrender  to  that  traitor !  Rather  let  me  die  by  the 
hand  of  a  common  marksman.  Go  back,  Monsieur 
de  Pomperant,  and  call  to  me  the  Vice-King  of 
Naples." 

Lannoy  advances,  kneels,  and  kisses  his  hand. 
"  Your  Majesty  is  my  prisoner,"  he  cries  aloud,  and 
a  ringing  shout  is  echoed  from  the  Spanish  troops. 

Francis  gives  him  his  sword.  Lannoy  receives  it 
kneeling,  and  replaces  it  by  his  own.  The  King's 
helmet  is  then  removed  ;  a  velvet  cap  is  given  to  him, 
which  he  places  on  his  head.  The  Spanish  and 
Italian  troopers  and  the  deadly  musketeers  silently 
creep  round  him  where  he  lies  on  the  grass,  supported 
by  cushions,  one  to  tear  a  feather  from  his  broken 
plume,  another  to  cut  a  morsel  from  his  surcoat  as  a 
relic.  This  involuntary  homage  from  his  enemies  is 
evidently  agreeable  to  Francis.  As  his  surcoat 
rapidly  disappears  under  the  knives  of  his  opponents, 
he  smiles,  and  graciously  acknowledges  the  rough 


3  2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

advances  of  those  same  soldiers  who  a  moment  before 
thirsted  for  his  blood.  Other  generals  with  Pescara 
advance  and  surround  him.  He  courteously  ac- 
knowledges their  respectful  salutations. 

"Spare  my  poor  soldiers,  spare  my  Frenchmen, 
generals,"  says  he. 

These  unselfish  words  bring  tears  into  Pescara's 
eyes. 

"  Your  Majesty  shall  be  obeyed,"  replies  he. 

"  I  thank  you,"  replies  Francis  with  a  faltering 
voice. 

A  pony  is  now  brought  to  bear  him  into  Pavia. 
Francis  becomes  greatly  agitated.  As  they  raise  him 
up  and  assist  him  to  mount,  he  turns  to  his  escort  of 
generals — 

"  Marquis,"  says  he,  turning  to  Pescara,  "  and  you, 
my  lord  governor,  if  my  calamity  touches  your  hearts, 
as  it  would  seem  to  do,  I  beseech  you  not  to  lead  me 
into  Pavia.  I  would  not  be  exposed  to  the  affront 
of  entering  as  a  prisoner  a  city  I  should  have  taken 
by  assault.  Carry  me,  I  pray  you,  to  some  shelter 
without  the  walls." 

"Your  Majesty's  wishes  are  our  law,"  replies 
Pescara,  saluting  him.  "  We  will  bear  you  to  the 
monastery  of  Saint-Paul,  without  the  gate  towards 
Milan." 

To  Saint-Paul  the  King  was  carried.  It  was  from 
thence  he  wrote  the  historic  letter  to  his  mother, 
Louise  de  Savoie,  Regent  of  France,  in  which  he  tells 
her,  "  all  is  lost  save  honour.'" 


Broken  Faith.  33 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BROKEN    FAITH. 

WE  are  at  Madrid.  Francis  has  been  lured  hither 
by  incredible  treachery,  under  the  idea  that 
he  will  meet  Charles  V.,  and  be  at  once  set  at  liberty. 

He  is  confined  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Alcazar, 
then  used  as  a  state  prison.  A  massive  oaken  door, 
clamped  and  barred  with  iron,  opens  from  the  court 
from  whence  a  flight  of  steps  leads  into  two  small 
chambers  which  occupy  one  of  the  towers.  The  inner 
room  has  narrow  windows,  closely  barred.  The  light 
is  dim.  There  is  just  room  for  a  table,  two  chairs, 
and  a  bed.  It  is  a  cage  rather  than  a  prison. 

On  a  chair,  near  an  open  window,  sits  the  King. 
He  is  emaciated  and  pale  ;  his  cheeks  are  hollow,  his 
lips  are  white,  his  eyes  are  sunk  in  his  head,  his  dress 
is  neglected.  His  glossy  hair,  plentifully  streaked 
with  grey,  covers  the  hand  upon  which  he  wearily 
leans  his  head.  He  gazes  vacantly  at  the  setting  sun 
opposite — a  globe  of  fire  rapidly  sinking  below  the 
low  dark  plain  which  bounds  his  view. 

There  are  boundless  plains  in  front  of  him,  and 
cxi  his  left  a  range  of  tawny  hills.  A  roadway  runs 
beneath  the  tower,  where  the  Imperial  Guards  are 
encamped.  The  gay  fanfare  of  the  trumpets  sounding 
the  retreat,  the  waving  banners,  the  prancing  horses, 
the  brilliant  accoutrements,  the  glancing  armour  of 
the  imperial  troops,  mock  him  where  he  sits.  Around 
him  is  Madrid.  Palace,  tower,  and  garden  rise  out 
of  a  sea  of  buildings  burnt  by  southern  sunshine. 

VOL.  I.— 3 


34  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

The  church-bells  ring  out  the  Ave  Maria  The 
fading  light  darkens  into  night.  Still  the  King  sits 
beside  the  open  window,  lost  in  thought.  No  one 
comes  to  disturb  him.  Now  and  then  some  broken 
words  escape  his  lips: — "Save  France — my  poor 
soldiers — brave  De  Foix — noble  Bonnivet — see,  he  is 
tossed  on  the  Spanish  pikes.  Alas  !  would  I  were 
dead.  My  sister — my  little  lads — the  Dauphin  — 
Henry — Orleans — I  shall  never  see  you  more.  Oh, 
God  !  I  am  bound  in  chains  of  iron — France — liberty 
— Glory — gone — gone  for  ever!  "  His  head  sinks  on 
his  breast ;  tears  stream  from  his  eyes.  He  falls  back 
fainting  in  his  chair,  and  is  borne  to  his  bed. 

Francis  has  never  seen  Charles,  who  is  at  his  capi- 
tal, Toledo.  The  Emperor  does  not  even  excuse  his 
absence.  This  cold  and  cautious  policy,  this  death 
in  life,  is  agony  to  the  ardent  temperament  of  Fran- 
cis. His  health  breaks  down.  A  settled  melancholy, 
a  morbid  listlessness  overwhelms  him.  He  is  seized 
with  fever  ;  he  rapidly  becomes  delirious.  His  royal 
gaoler,  Charles,  will  not  believe  in  his  danger ;  he  still 
refuses  to  see  him.  False  himself,  he  believes  Francis 
to  be  shamming.  The  Spanish  ministers  are  dis- 
tracted by  their  master's  obstinacy,  for  if  the  French 
King  dies  at  Madrid  of  broken  heart,  all  is  lost,  and 
a  bloody  war  with  France  inevitable. 

At  the  moment  when  the  Angel  of  Death  hovers 
over  the  Alcazar,  a  sound  of  wheels  is  heard  below. 
A  litter,  drawn  by  reeking  mules  and  covered  with 
mud,  dashes  into  the  street.  The  leather  curtains 
are  drawn  aside,  and  Marguerite  d'Alencon,  pale  and 
shrunk  with  anxiety  and  fatigue,  attended  by  two 
ladies,  having  travelled  from  Paris  day  and  night, 


Broken  Faith.  35 

descends.  Breathless  with  excitement,  she  passes 
quickly  up  the  narrow  stairs,  through  the  ante-room, 
and  enters  the  King's  chamber.  Alas  !  what  a  sight 
awaits  her.  Francis  lies  insensible  on  his  bed.  The 
room  is  darkened,  save  where  a  temporary  altar  has 
been  erected,  opposite  his  bed,  on  which  lights  are 
burning.  A  Bishop  officiates.  The  low  voices  of 
priests,  chanting  as  they  move  about  the  altar,  alone 
break  a  death-like  silence.  Marguerite,  overcome  by 
emotion,  clasps  her  hands  and  sinks  on  her  knees 
beside  her  brother.  Her  sobs  and  cries  disturb  the 
solemn  ordinance.  She  is  led  almost  fainting  away. 
Then  the  Bishop  approaches  the  King,  bearing  the 
bread  of  life,  and,  at  that  moment,  Francis  becomes 
suddenly  conscious.  He  opens  his  eyes,  and  in  a 
feeble  voice  prays  that  he  may  be  permitted  to  receive 
it.  So  humbly,  yet  so  joyfully,  does  he  communi- 
cate that  all  present  are  deeply  moved. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  presence  of  Marguerite 
in  Madrid,  the  King  relapses.  He  again  falls  into  a 
death-like  trance.  Then,  and  then  only,  does  the 
Emperor  yield  to  the  reproaches  of  the  Duchesse 
d'Alengon  and  the  entreaties  of  his  ministers.  He 
takes  horse  from  Toledo  and  rides  to  Madrid  almost 
without  drawing  rein,  until  he  stops  at  the  heavy  door 
in  the  Alcazar.  He  mounts  the  stairs  and  enters  the 
chamber.  Francis,  now  restored  to  consciousness, 
prompted  by  a  too  generous  nature,  opens  his  arms 
to  embrace  him. 

"  Your  Majesty  has  come  to  see  your  prisoner  die," 
says  he  in  a  feeble  voice,  faintly  smiling. 

"  No,"  replies  Charles,  with  characteristic  caution 
and  Spanish  courtesy,  bowing  profoundly  and  kissing 


36  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

him  on  either  cheek  ;  "  no,  your  Majesty  will  not  die, 
you  are  no  longer  my  prisoner ;  you  are  my  friend 
and  brother.  I  come  to  set  you  free." 

'•  Ah,  Sire,"  murmurs  Francis  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  "  death  will  accomplish  that  before  your 
Majesty ;  but  if  I  live — and  indeed  I  do  not  believe 
I  shall,  I  am  so  overcome  by  weakness — let  me 
implore  you  to  allow  me  to  treat  for  my  release  in 
person  with  your  Majesty  ;  for  this  end  I  came  hither 
to  Madrid." 

At  this  moment  the  conversation  is  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  a  page,  who  announces  to  the  Em- 
peror that  the  Duchesse  d'Alen£on  has  arrived  and 
awaits  his  Majesty's  pleasure.  Glad  of  an  excuse  to 
terminate  a  most  embarrassing  interview  with  his  too 
confiding  prisoner,  Charles,  who  has  been  seated  on 
the  bed,  rises  hastily — 

"  Permit  me,  my  brother,"  says  he,  "  to  leave  you, 
in  order  to  descend  and  receive  your  august  sister  in 
person.  In  the  meantime  recover  your  health. 
Reckon  upon  my  willingness  to  serve  you.  Some 
other  time  we  will  meet ;  then  we  can  treat  more  in 
detail  of  these  matters,  when  your  Majesty  is  stronger 
and  better  able  to  converse." 

Charles  takes  an  affectionate  leave  of  Francis,  de- 
scends the  narrow  stairs,  and  with  much  ceremony 
receives  the  Duchess. 

"  I  rejoice,  madame,"  says  he,  "  to  offer  you  in 
person  the  homage  of  all  Spain,  and  my  own  hearty 
thanks  for  the  courage  and  devotion  you  have  shown 
in  the  service  of  the  King,  my  brother.  He  is  a 
prisoner  no  longer.  The  conditions  of  release  shall 
forthwith  be  prepared  by  my  ministers." 


Broken  Faith.  37 

"  Is  the  King  fully  aware  what  those  conditions 
are,  Sire  ?  "  Marguerite  coldly  asks. 

Charles  was  silent. 

"  I  fear  our  mother,  Madame  Louise,  Regent  of 
France, "continues  the  Duchesse  d'Alencon,  "may 
find  it  difficult  to  accept  your  conditions,  even  though 
it  be  to  liberate  the  Sovereign  of  France,  her  own 
beloved  son." 

"  Madame,"  replies  Charles  evasively,  "  I  will  not 
permit  this  occasion,  when  I  have  the  happiness  of 
first  saluting  you  within  my  realm,  to  be  occupied 
with  state  affairs.  Rely  on  my  desire  to  set  my 
brother  free.  Meanwhile  the  King  will,  I  hope,  re- 
cover his  strength.  Pressing  business  now  calls  me 
back  to  Toledo.  Adieu !  most  illustrious  princess, 
to  whom  I  offer  all  that  Madrid  contains  for  your 
service.  Permit  me  to  kiss  your  hands.  Salute  my 
brother,  the  King,  from  me.  Once  more,  royal  lady, 
adieu  !  " 

Marguerite  curtseys  to  the  ground.  The  Emperor, 
with  his  head  uncovered,  mounts  his  horse,  again 
salutes  her,  and  attended  by  his  retinue  puts  spurs 
to  his  steed  and  rides  from  the  Alcazar  on  his  re- 
turn to  Toledo.  Marguerite  fully  understands  the 
treachery  of  his  words.  Her  heart  swelling  with  in- 
dignation, she  slowly  ascends  to  the  King's  chamber. 

"Has  the  Emperor  departed  already?"  Francis 
eagerly  asks  her. 

"  Yes,  my  brother ;  pressing  business,  he  says,  calls 
him  back  to  Toledo,"  replies  Marguerite  bitterly, 
speaking  very  slowly. 

"  What !  gone  so  soon,  before  giving  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  discussing  with  him  the  terms  of  my  free- 


38  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

dom.  Surely,  my  sister,  this  is  strange,"  says 
Francis,  turning  eagerly  towards  the  Duchess,  and 
then  sinking  back  pale  and  exhausted  on  his  pil- 
lows. 

Marguerite  seats  herself  beside  him,  takes  his  hand 
tenderly  within  both  her  own,  and  gazes  at  him  in 
silence. 

"  But,  my  sister,  did  my  brother,  the  Emperor,  say 
nothing  to  you  of  his  speedy  return  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  answers  Marguerite,  drily. 

"Yet  he  assured  me,  with  his  own  lips,  that  I  was 
already  free,  and  that  the  conditions  of  release  would 
be  prepared  immediately." 

"  Dear  brother,"  says  the  Duchess,  "  has  your  im- 
prisonment at  Madrid,  and  the  conduct  of  the  Em- 
peror to  you  this  long  time  past,  inclined  you  to 
believe  what  he  says?  " 

"  I,  a  king  myself,  should  be  grieved  to  doubt  a 
brother  sovereign's  word." 

"  Francis,"  says  Marguerite,  speaking  with  great 
earnestness  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  him,  "  what  you  say 
convinces  me  that  you  are  weakened  by  illness.  Your 
naturally  acute  intellect  is  dulled  by  the  confusion  of 
recent  delirium.  If  you  were  in  full  possession  of  your 
senses  you  would  not  speak  as  you  do.  My  brother, 
take  heed  of  my  words — you  will  never  be  free." 

"  How,"  exclaims  the  King,  starting  up,  "  never  be 
free  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  brother.  You  are,  I  fear,  too 
weak  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

"  No,  no  !  my  sister;  suspense  to  me  is  worse  than 
death.  Speak  to  me,  Marguerite  ;  speak  to  me,  my 
sister." 


Broken  Faith.  39 

"  Then,  Sire,  let  me  ask  you,  when  you  speak  of 
release,  when  the  Emperor  tells  you  you  are  free,  are 
you  aware  of  the  conditions  he  imposes  on  you  ?  " 

"  Not  accurately,"  replies  Francis.  "  Certain  terms 
were  proposed,  before  my  illness,  that  I  should  sur- 
render whole  provinces  in  France,  renounce  my  rights 
in  the  Milanese,  pay  an  enormous  ransom,  leave  my 
sons  hostages  at  Madrid  ;  but  these  were  the  proposals 
of  the  Spanish  council.  The  Emperor,  speaking 
personally  to  a  brother  sovereign,  would  never  press 
anything  on  me  unbecoming  my  royal  condition ; 
therefore  it  is  that  I  desire  to  treat  with  himself 
alone." 

"Alas!  my  brother,  you  are  too  generous  ;  you  are 
deceived.  Much  negotiation  has  passed  during  your 
illness,  and  since  my  arrival.  Conditions  have  been 
proposed  by  Spain  to  the  Regent,  that  she — your 
mother — supported  by  the  parliament  of  your  coun- 
try, devoted  to  your  person,  has  refused.  Listen  to 
me,  Francis.  Charles  seeks  to  dismember  France. 
As  long  as  it  remains  a  kingdom,  he  intends  that  you 
shall  never  leave  Madrid." 

"  Marguerite,  my  sister,  proceed,  I  entreat  you !  " 
breaks  in  Francis,  trembling  with  excitement. 

"  Burgundy  is  to  be  ceded ;  you  are  to  renounce 
all  interest  in  Flanders  and  in  the  Milanese.  You 
are  to  pay  a  ransom  that  will  beggar  the  kingdom. 
You  are  to  marry  Elinor,  Queen  Dowager  of  Portu- 
gal, sister  to  Charles,  and  you  are  to  leave  your  sons, 
the  Dauphin  and  the  Due  d'Orle"ans,  hostages  in 
Spain  for  the  fulfilment  of  these  demands." 

Francis  turns  very  white,  and  sinks  back  speech- 
less on  the  pillows  that  support  him.  He  stretches 


4O  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

out  his  arm  to  his  sister  and  fondly  clasps  her  neck. 
"  Marguerite,  if  it  is  so,  you  say  well, — I  shall  never 
leave  Madrid.  My  sister,  let  me  die  ten  thousand 
deaths  rather  than  betray  the  honour  of  France." 

"  Speak  not  of  death,  dearest  brother!  "  exclaims 
Marguerite,  her  face  suddenly  flushing  with  excite- 
ment. "I  have  come  to  make  you  live.  I,  Margue- 
rite d'Alenc.on,  your  sister,  am  come  to  lead  you  back 
to  your  army  and  to  France ;  to  the  France  that 
mourns  for  you  ;  to  the  army  that  is  now  dispersed 
and  insubordinate  ;  to  the  mother  who  weeps  for  her 
beloved  son."  Marguerite's  voice  falters  ;  she  sobs 
aloud,  and  rising  from  her  chair,  she  presses  her 
brother  in  her  arms.  Francis  feebly  returns  her 
embrace,  tenderly  kisses  her,  and  signs  to  her  to 
proceed.  "Think  you,"  continues  Marguerite  more 
calmly,  and  reseating  herself,  but  still  holding  the 
King's  hand — "  think  you  that  councils  in  which  Bour- 
bon has  a  voice "  At  this  name  the  King  shud- 
ders and  clenches  his  fist  upon  the  bed-clothes. 
"  Think  you  that  a  sovereign  who  has  treacherously 
lured  you  to  Madrid  will  have  any  mercy  on  you  ? 
No,  my  brother;  unless  you  agree  to  unworthy  con- 
ditions, imposed  by  a  treacherous  monarch  who 
abuses  his  power  over  you,  here  you  will  languish 
until  you  die !  Now  mark  my  words,  dear  brother. 
Treaties  made  under  duresse,  by  force  viajcure,  are 
legally  void.  You  will  dissemble,  my  generous 
King — for  the  sake  of  France,  you  will  dissemble. 
You  must  fight  this  crafty  emperor  with  his  own 
weapons." 

"  What !  my  sister,  be  false  to  my  word — I,  a  belted 
knight,  invested  by  the  hands  of  Bayard  on  the  field 


Broken  Faith.  4 1 

of  Marignano,  stoop  to  a  lie?  Marguerite,  you  are 
mad !  " 

"  Oh,  Francis,  hear  me  !  "  cries  Marguerite  passion- 
ately, "  hear  me  ;  on  my  knees  I  conjure  you  to  live, 
for  yourself,  for  us,  for  France."  She  casts  herself 
on  the  floor  beside  him.  She  wrings  his  hands,  she 
kisses  his  feet,  her  tears  falling  thickly.  "  Francis, 
you  must,  you  shall  consent.  By-and-by  you  will 
bless  me  for  this  tender  violence.  You  are  not  fit 
to  meddle  in  this  matter.  Leave  to  me  the  care 
of  your  honour  ;  is  it  not  my  own  ?  I  come  from  the 
Regent,  from  the  council,  from  all  France.  Believe 
me,  brother,  if  you  are  perjured,  all  Europe  will 
applaud  the  perjury. 

Marguerite,  whose  whole  frame  quivers  with  agita- 
tion, speaks  no  more.  There  is  a  lengthened  pause. 
The  flush  of  fever  is  on  the  King's  face. 

"  My  sister,"  murmurs  Francis,  struggling  with  a 
broken  voice  to  express  himself,  "  you  have  con- 
quered. Into  your  hands  I  commit  my  honour  and 
the  future  of  France.  Leave  me  a  while  to  rest,  for 
I  am  faint." 

Treaties  made  under  duresse  by  force  majeure  are 
legally  void.  The  Emperor  must  be  decoyed  into 
the  belief  that  terms  are  accepted  by  Francis,  which 
are  to  be  broken  the  instant  his  foot  touches  French 
soil.  It  is  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the  chival- 
rous monarch  can  be  brought  to  lend  himself  to  this 
deceit.  But  the  prayers  of  his  sister,  the  deplorable 
condition  of  his  kingdom  deprived  of  his  presence 
for  nearly  five  years,  the  terror  of  returning  illness, 
and  the  thorough  conviction  that  Charles  is  as  per- 
fidious as  he  is  ambitious,  at  length  prevail.  Francis 


42  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

ostensibly  accepts  the  Emperor's  terms,  and  Queen 
Claude  being  dead,  he  affiances  himself  to  Charles's 
sister,  Elinor,  Queen  Dowager  of  Portugal. 
Francis  was  perjured,  but  France  was  saved. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LA   DUCHESSE   D'ETAMPES. 

RIDING  with  all  speed  from  Madrid — for  he  fears 
the  Emperor's  perfidy — Francis  has  reached  the 
frontier  of  Spain,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Bidassoa. 
His  boys — the  Dauphin  and  the  Due  d'Orleans,  who 
are  to  replace  him  at  Madrid  as  hostages — await  him 
there.  They  rush  into  their  father's  arms  and  fondly 
cling  to  him,  weeping  bitterly  at  this  cruel  meeting 
for  a  moment  after  years  of  separation.  Francis, 
with  ready  sympathy,  mingles  his  tears  with  theirs. 
He  embraces  and  blesses  them.  But,  wild  with  the 
excitement  of  liberty  and  insecure  while  on  Spanish 
soil,  he  cannot  spare  time  for  details.  He  hands  the 
poor  lads  over  to  the  Spanish  commissioners.  Too 
impatient  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  ferry-boat,  which 
is  pulling  across  the  river,  he  steps  into  the  waters 
of  the  Bidassoa  to  meet  it.  On  the  opposite  bank, 
among  the  low  scrub  wood,  a  splendid  retinue  awaits 
him.  He  springs  into  the  saddle,  waves  his  cap  in 
the  air,  and  with  a  joyous  shout  exclaims,  "  Now  I 
am  a  king  !  Now  I  am  free  !  " 

The  political  vicissitudes  of  Francis's  reign  are  as 
nothing  to  the  chaos  of  his  private  life ;  only  as  a 


QUEEN     ELINOR. 


La  DucJiesse  d1  Etampes.  43 

lover  he  was  never  defeated.  No  humiliating  Pavia 
arrests  his  successful  course.  At  Bayonne  he  finds  a 
brilliant  Court ;  his  mother  the  Regent,  and  his  sis- 
ter Marguerite,  await  his  arrival.  After  "  Les  em- 
brasseurs  d'usage,"  as  Du  Bellay  quaintly  expresses 
it,  the  King's  eye  wanders  over  the  parterre  of  young 
beauties  assembled  in  their  suite,  "  la  petite  bande 
des  dames  de  la  Cour."  Then  Francis  first  beholds 
Anne  de  Pisselieu,  afterwards  Duchesse  d'Etampes. 
No  one  can  compare  to  her  in  the  tyranny  of  youth, 
beauty,  and  talent.  A  mere  girl,  she  already  knows 
everything,  and  is  moreover  astute,  witty,  and  false. 
In  spite  of  the  efforts  of  Diane  de  Poitiers  to  attract 
the  King  (she  having  come  to  Bayonne  in  attend- 
ance on  the  Regent-mother),  Anne  de  Pisselieu  pre- 
vails. The  King  is  hers.  He  delights  in  her  joyous 
sallies.  Anne  laughs  at  every  one  and  everything, 
specially  at  the  pretensions  of  Madame  Diane,  whom 
she  calls  "  an  old  hag."  She  declares  that  she  her- 
self was  born  on  Diane's  wedding-day  ! 

Who  can  resist  so  bewitching  a  creature?  Not 
Francis  certainly.  So  the  Court  divides  itself  into 
two  factions  in  love,  politics,  and  religion.  One 
party,  headed  by  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes — a  Protes- 
tant, and  mistress  of  the  reigning  monarch  ;  a  second 
by  Madame  Diane  de  Poitiers — a  Catholic,  who,  after 
many  efforts,  finding  the  King  inaccessible,  devotes 
herself  to  his  son,  Prince  Henry,  a  mere  boy,  at  least 
twenty  years  younger  than  herself,  and  waits  his 
reign.  Oddly  enough,  it  is  the  older  woman  who 
waits,  and  the  younger  one  who  rules. 

The  Regent-mother  looks  on  approvingly.  Morals, 
especially  royal  morals,  do  not  exist.  Madame  Louise 


44  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

de  Savoie  is  ambitious.  She  would  not  see  the  new 
Spanish  Queen — a  comely  princess,  as  she  hears  from 
her  daughter  Marguerite — possess  too  much  influence 
over  the  King.  It  might  injure  her  own  power.  The 
poor  Spanish  Queen !  No  fear  that  her  influence 
will  injure  any  one  !  The  King  never  loves  her,  and 
never  forgives  her  being  forced  upon  him  as  a  clause 
in  the  ignominious  treaty  of  Madrid.  Besides,  she  is 
thirty-two  years  old  and  a  widow ;  grave,  dignified, 
and  learned,  but  withal  a  lady  of  agreeable  person, 
though  of  mature  and  well-developed  charms. 
Elinor  admired  and  loved  Francis  when  she  saw  him 
at  Madrid,  and  all  the  world  thought  that  the  days 
were  numbered  in  which  Madame  d'Etampes  would 
be  seen  at  Court.  "  But,"  says  Du  Bellay,  either 
with  perfect  naivet£  or  profound  irony — "  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  King  to  offer  to  the  virtuous  Spanish 
princess  any  other  sentiments  than  respect  and  grati- 
tude, the  Duchesse  d'Etampes  being  sole  mistress  of 
his  heart !  "  So  the  royal  lady  fares  no  better  than 
Queen  Claude,  "  with  the  roses  in  her  soul,"  and  only 
receives,  like  her,  courtesy  and  indifference. 

The  King  returns  to  the  Spanish  frontier  to  re- 
ceive Queen  Elinor  and  to  embrace  the  sons,  now 
released,  to  whom  she  has  been  a  true  mother  during 
the  time  they  have  been  hostages  at  Madrid. 

By-and-by  the  Queen's  brother — that  mighty  and 
perfidious  sovereign,  Charles  V.,  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many— passing  to  his  estates  in  the  Netherlands, 
"  craves  leave  of  his  beloved  brother,  Francis,  King 
of  France,  to  traverse  his  kingdom  on  his  way,"  so 
great  is  his  dread  of  the  sea  voyage  on  account  of 
sickness. 


La  Duchesse  d ' Etampes.  45 

Some  days  before  the  Emperor's  arrival  Francis  is 
at  the  Louvre.  He  has  repaired  and  embellished  it 
in  honour  of  his  guest,  and  has  pulled  down  the 
central  tower,  or  donjon,  called  "  Philippine,"  which 
encumbered  the  inner  court.  By-and-by  he  will  pull 
down  all  the  mediaeval  fortress,  and,  assisted  by  Les- 
cot,  begin  the  palace  known  as  the  "  Old  Louvre." 

Francis  is  seated  tete-a-tete  with  the  Duchesse 
d'Etampes.  The  room  is  small — a  species  of  boudoir 
or  closet.  It  is  hung  with  rare  tapestry,  represent- 
ing in  glowing  colours  the  Labours  of  Hercules. 
Venetian  mirrors,  in  richly  carved  frames,  fling  back 
the  light  of  a  central  chandelier,  also  of  Venetian 
workmanship,  cunningly  wrought  into  gaudy  flowers, 
diamonded  pendants,  and  true  lovers'  knots.  It  is  a 
blaze  of  brightness  and  colour.  Rich  velvet  hang- 
ings, heavy  with  gold  embroidery,  cover  the  narrow 
windows  and  hang  over  the  low  doors.  The  King 
and  the  Duchess  sit  beside  a  table  of  inlaid  marble, 
supported  on  a  pedestal,  marvellously  gilt,  of  Italian 
workmanship,  on  which  are  laid  fruits,  wines,  and 
confitures,  served  in  golden  vessels  worked  in  the 
Cinque-cento  style,  after  Cellini's  patterns.  Beside 
themselves,  Triboulet,  *  the  king's  fool,  alone  is 
present.  As  Francis  holds  out  his  ciup  time  after 
time  to  Triboulet,  who  replenishes  it  with  Malvoi- 
sie,  the  scene  composes  itself  into  a  perfect  picture, 
such  as  Victor  Hugo  has  imagined  in  Le  Roi s  amuse ; 
so  perfect,  indeed,  that  Francis  might  have  sung,  "  La 
donna  e  mobile,"  as  he  now  does  in  Verdi's  opera  of 
Rigoletto. 

"  Sire,"  says  the  Duchess,  her  voice  dropping  into 
*See  Note  5. 


46  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

a  most  delicious  softness,  "do  you  leave  us  to- 
morrow ?  " 

The  King  bows  his  head  and  kisses  her  jewelled 
fingers. 

"  So  you  persist  in  going  to  meet  your  brother, 
the  Emperor  Charles,  your  loving  brother  of  Spain, 
whom  I  hate  because  he  was  so  cruel  to  you  at 
Madrid."  The  Duchess  looks  up  and  smiles.  Her 
eyes  are  beautiful,  but  hard  and  cruel.  She  wears 
an  ermine  mantle,  for  it  is  winter ;  her  dress  is  of 
the  richest  green  satin,  embroidered  with  gold.  On 
her  head  is  a  golden  net,  the  meshes  sprinkled  with 
diamonds,  from  which  her  dark  tresses  escape  in 
long  ringlets  over  her  shoulders. 

Francis  turns  towards  her  and  pledges  her  in  a 
cup  of  Malvoisie.  The  corners  of  his  mouth  are 
drawn  up  into  a  cynical  smile,  almost  to  his  nostrils. 
He  has  now  reached  middle  life,  and  his  face  at  that 
time  would  have  made  no  man's  fortune. 

"  Duchess,"  says  he,  "  I  must  tear  myself  from 
you.  I  go  to-morrow  to  Touraine.  Before  return- 
ing to  Paris,  I  shall  attend  my  brother  the  Emperor 
Charles  at  Loches,  then  at  Amboise  on  Jhe  Loire. 
You  will  soon  follow  me  with  the  Queen." 

"  And,  suf ely,  when  you  have  this  heartless  king, 
this  cruel  gaoler  in  your  power,  you  will  punish  him 
and  revenge  yourself?  If  he,  like  a  fool,  comes  into 
Touraine,  make  him  revoke  the  treaty  of  Madrid,  or 
shut  him  up  in  one  of  Louis  XL's  oubliettes  at  Am- 
boise or  Loches." 

"  I  vt\\\  persuade  him,  if  I  can,  to  liberate  me  from 
all  the  remaining  conditions  of  the  treaty,"  said  the 
King,  "  but  I  will  never  force  him."  As  he  speaks, 


La  Duchesse  (T Etampes.  47 

Triboulet,  who  has  been  shaking  the  silver  bells  on 
his  parti-coloured  dress  with  suppressed  laughter, 
pulls  out  some  ivory  tablets  to  add  something  to  a 
list  he  keeps  of  those  whom  he  considers  greater 
fools  than  himself.  He  calls  it  "his  journal." 

The  King  looks  at  the  tablets  and  sees  the  name 
of  Charles  V. 

"Ha!  ha!  by  the  mass!  —  how  long  has  my 
brother  of  Spain  figured  there?  "  asks  he. 

"  The  day,  Sire,  that  I  heard  he  had  put  his  foot 
on  the  French  frontier." 

"  What  will  you  do  when  I  let  him  depart 
freely?  " 

"  I  shall,"  said  Triboulet,  "  rub  out  his  name  and 
put  yours  in  its  place,  Sire." 

"  See,  your  Majesty,  there  is  some  one  else  who 
agrees  with  me,"  said  the  Duchess,  laughing. 

"  I  know,"  replies  Francis,  "  that  my  interests 
would  almost  force  me  to  do  as  you  desire,  madame, 
but  my  honour  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  interests. 
I  am  now  at  liberty, — I  had  rather  the  treaty  of 
Madrid  should  stand  for  ever  than  countenance  an 
act  unworthy  of  '  un  roi  chevalier.'  ' 

Francis  receives  Charles  V.  at  Amboise  with 
ostentatious  splendour.  Aware  of  the  repugnance 
of  his  royal  guest  to  mount  steps  (the  Spanish  Em- 
peror was  early  troubled  by  those  attacks  of  gout 
that  caused  him  at  length  to  abdicate  and  to  die  of 
premature  old  age,  at  the  monastery  of  San  Juste), 
Francis  caused  an  inclined  plane  or  slope  to  be  con- 
structed in  place  of  stairs  within  one  of  the  round 
towers  by  which  the  Castle  of  Amboise,  standing 
on  a  precipitous  pile  of  rocks,  is  approached.  Up 


48  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

this  slope,  which  remains  in  excellent  preservation, 
Charles  ascends  to  the  plateau  on  which  the  castle 
stands,  seated  in  his  ponderous  coach,  drawn  by 
heavy  horses,  attended  by  guards  and  outriders. 
Elinor,  his  sister,  the  neglected  Queen,  as  well  as 
the  favourite,  Madame  d'Etampes,  are  present  at 
the  fetes  given  in  honour  of  the  Emperor.  There 
are  no  secrets  at  Court,  and  Charles  soon  comes  to 
know  that  the  maitresse  en  titrc  is  his  enemy.  One 
evening,  after  a  dance  executed  by  Anne  d'Etampes 
along  with  the  ladies  of  the  Court,  in  which  she 
displayed  the  graces  of  her  person,  the  Emperor 
approaches  her. 

"  Madame,"  he  says,  "  it  is  only  in  France  that  I 
have  seen  such  perfection  of  elegance  and  beauty. 
My  brother,  the  King,  would  be  the  envy  of  all 
the  sovereigns  of  Europe  could  they  have  witnessed 
what  I  have  jusjt  seen.  There  is  no  ransom  that  I 
would  accept  for  such  a  captive,  had  I  the  power  of 
retaining  her  at  Madrid." 

The  Emperor's  eyes  melt  with  admiration  as  he 
gazes  on  her. 

The  Duchess's  countenance  beams  with  delight 
at  the  Emperor's  high-flown  compliment. 

The  King  approaches  the  spot  where  they  stand. 

"  Know,  my  brother,"  says  the  King  with  a  slight 
touch  of  irony  in  his  tone,  for  he  is  displeased  at 
the  tender  glances  Charles  is  casting  on  his  favourite, 
"know  that  this  fair  Duchess  would  have  had  me 
detain  you  here  a  prisoner  untrl  you  had  revoked 
the  treaty  of  Madrid." 

The  Emperor  starts  visibly  and  frowns.  "  If  you 
consider  the  advice  good,  your  Majesty  had  better 


DUCHESSE    D'E"TAMPES. 


Last   Days.  49 

follow  it,"  he  replies  haughtily,  turning  away  to  ad- 
dress some  nobles  standing  near. 

Some  few  days  afterwards  the  Duchess  gives  a 
supper  in  her  apartments,  to  which  the  Emperor 
and  the  Court  are  invited.  After  the  reception, 
sinking  on  her  knees,  she  presents  his  Majesty  with 
rose-water  in  a  gold  embossed  basin  in  which  to  wash 
his  hands.  Charles  adroitly  drops  a  large  diamond 
ring  into  the  basin.  The  Duchess  stoops  and  places 
the  vessel  on  the  ground  in  order  to  pick  up  the  jewel. 

"  This  ring,,  madame,"  he  says,  and  he  speaks  low, 
and  leans  forward  in  order  to  catch  her  ear,  "  is  too 
becoming  to  that  fair  hand  for  me  to  remove  it.  It 
has  itself  sought  a  new  possessor,"  and  he  kisses  her 
hand.  "  Keep  it  as  a  pledge  of  my  admiration  and 
my  friendship." 

The  Duchess  rises  and  makes  a  deep  obeisance. 
Not  only  did  she  keep  the  ring,  but  she  became  so 
decided  a  partisan  of  this  "gaoler"  that  she  is  popu- 
larly accused  of  having  betrayed  Francis  to  the  Em- 
peror; specially  in  the  subsequent  wars  between 
England,  France,  and  Spain. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

LAST  DAYS. 

RAMBOUILLET  is  now  a  station  on  the  railway 
between   Versailles,  Chartres,  and  Le   Mans. 
It  is  a  sunny  little  town,  sloping  to  the  south,   in  a 
sheltered  hollow,  over  which  the  slanting  roofs  and 
conical  turrets  of  the  palace  rise  out  of  stately  elms 


50  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

and  spiked  poplars.  The  principal  facade  of  the 
chateau — which  consists  of  two  wings  at  right  angles 
to  each  other,  having  at  each  corner  a  circular  turret, 
surmounted  by  a  spire — faces  the  mid-day  sun.  The 
ground  lies  low,  and  canals,  extending  in  three  di- 
rections, bordered  by  terraced  walks  and  avenues, 
intersect  the  grassy  lawns  which  lengthen  into  the 
tangled  woodland  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Op- 
posite the  chateau,  on  an  islet,  is  a  grotto  called  "  La 
Marmite  de  Rabelais."  To  the  right,  the  three 
canals  flow  into  a  river,  spanned  by  a  low  bridge, 
known  as  "  the  accursed  bridge,"  from  some  now 
obscure  tradition  foreboding  evil  to  those  who  pass 
over  it.  On  every  other  side,  the  trunks  of  venerable 
trees,  their  overarching  branches  closing  above  like 
a  cloister — pillars  of  oak,  elm,  and  ash — wind  away 
into  grassy  meads  and  shady  dingles,  intersected  by 
long  rides  cut  straight  through  the  forest,  proper  for 
the  stag-hunts  which  have  been  held  in  this  ancient 
manor  since  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  chateau  itself  has  now  been  modernised,  save 
where  one  ivy-crowned  round  tower  (the  donjon  of 
the  mediaeval  fortress),  in  deep  shadow,  frowns  an 
angry  defiance  to  the  stucco  and  whitewash  of  the 
flimsy  modern  fagade. 

It  is  the  month  of  March,  in  the  year  1547.  Fran- 
cis, attended  by  a  small  retinue,  has  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  this  round  tower.  Coming  from  the  south, 
he  has  crossed  the  river  by  "  the  accursed  bridge." 

During  the  whole  past  year  he  has  wandered  from 
place  to  place,  revisiting  all  his  favourite  haunts  as 
though  conscious  that  he  is  bidding  them  farewell. 
The  restlessness  of  mortal  disease  is  upon  him. 


Last  Days.  5 1 

Though  he  flies  from  city  to  hamlet,  from  castle  to 
palace,  vainly  seeking  respite  from  pain,  death  haunts 
and  follows  him.  His  life  is  agony.  He  is  greatly 
changed — an  internal  fever  consumes  him.  His  eyes 
are  haggard  ;  his  face  is  thin,  and  his  body  emaciated. 
Only  fifty-two  years  old,  like  his  great  rival  the  Em- 
peror Charles,  he  is  prematurely  aged.  Now  he  is 
half  lifted  from  his  coach  and  slowly  led  up  a  wind- 
ing staircase  to  his  apartments  on  the  second  floor 
by  his  friend  James  d'Angennes,  to  whose  ancestors 
Rambouillet  belonged.  Francis  comes  from  Cham- 
bord,  where  Marguerite,  now  Queen  of  Navarre  by 
her  second  marriage,  met  him.  Marguerite  and  her 
brother  still  cling  to  each  other,  but  they  are  both 
aged  and  full  of  care.  Her  beauty  is  faded  and  her 
health  is  broken.  Even  she,  though  devoted  as  ever, 
cannot  amuse  Francis  or  dissipate  the  weight  that 
oppresses  his  spirit.  The  old  topics  that  were  wont 
to  delight  him  are  irritably  dismissed.  He  no  longer 
cares  for  poetry,  is  wearied  of  politics,  shrinks  from 
society,  and  abuses  women.  It  is  at  this  time  he 
writes  with  the  point  of  a  diamond,  on  the  window 
of  his  closet  at  Chambord,  these  significent  lines: — 

"Souvent  femme  varie  ; 
Mai  habile  qui  s'y  fie!  " 

He  can  only  talk  to  his  sister  on  sorrowful  sub- 
jects :  of  the  death  by  plague  of  his  favourite  son 
Charles,  who  caught  the  infection  when  sleeping  at 
Abbeville  ;  or  of  his  old  friend,  Henry  VIII.  of  Eng- 
land, who  has  also  recently  died. 

The  death  of  the  latter  seems  to  affect  Francis 
terribly.  "Our  lives,"  he  says,  "  were  very  similar — 


52  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

he  was  slightly  older,  but  I  shall  not  long  survive 
him."  Vainly  does  Marguerite  combat  these  dismal 
forebodings.  She  laments  in  secret  the  sad  change. 
Ever  sympathetic  with  her  brother,  she,  too,  throws 
aside  romance  and  poetry  and  composes  "  The  Mir- 
ror of  a  Sinful  Soul,"  to  suit  his  altered  humour. 
Alas !  what  would  Marguerite  say  if  she  knew  what 
is  carefully  concealed  from  her?  That  the  great 
surgeon  Pare — Pare,  who  was  afterwards  to  draw  the 
spear-point  from  the  cheek  of  the  Balafr6 — has  pro- 
nounced that  the  King's  malady  is  hopeless ! 

After  a  short  sojourn  together  at  Chambord,  the 
brother  and  sister  part  never  to  meet  again. 

Francis  was  tp  have  passed  the  carnival  at  Limours, 
says  Du  Bellay ;  now  he  commands  the  masked  balls 
and  the  court  ballets  to  be  held  at  Saint-Germain  en 
Laye.  The  King's  fancy  changes ;  he  will  rouse 
himself ;  he  will  shake  off  the  horrible  lethargy  that 
is  creeping  over  him  ;  he  will  dismiss  sinister  presen- 
timents. Disguised  himself,  he  will  dance  among 
the  maskers — the  excitement  will  revive  him. 

But  strong  as  is  his  will,  high  as  is  his  courage, 
che  mortal  disease  within  him  is  stronger  still.  Sud- 
denly he  countermands  all  his  orders.  He  will  rather 
go  to  Rambouillet  to  visit  his  old  friend,  D'Angennes  ; 
to  meet  Rabelais  perhaps,  who  loves  the  old  castle, 
and  to  hunt  in  the  great  woods. 

The  quiet  old  manor,  half  hunting-lodge,  half  for- 
tress, buried  in  secluded  woods  just  bursting  into 
leaf,  where  the  wild  boar  and  the  stag  are  plentiful, 
will  suit  him  better  than  banquets,  balls,  games,  and 
boisterous  revelry.  The  once  dauntless  Francis  is 
grown  nervous  and  querulous,  and  is  painfully  con- 


Last   Days.  53 

scious  of  the  slightest  noise.  After  a  rapid  journey 
he  crosses  the  ill-omened  bridge  and  arrives  at 
Rambouillet.  No  sooner  has  he  been  laid  in  his 
bed  than  again  his  mind  changes.  He  must  rise  and 
go  to  Saint-Germain,  more  suitable  than  Rambouillet 
in  accommodation  for  his  present  condition.  But  the 
intense  anguish  he  suffers  renders  his  project  im- 
possible. Well,  he  will  remain.  He  will  rest  one 
night  here ;  then,  he  will  depart.  In  the  morning, 
says  the  same  historian,  he  awakes  at  daylight,  feel- 
ing somewhat  better.  He  commands  a  royal  hunt 
for  stags  and  boars.  Once  more  he  hears  the  bugle 
of  the  huntsmen,  the  baying  of  the  hounds,  the 
tramp  of  the  impatient  steeds.  The  fresh  morning 
air  gives  him  fictitious  strength.  He  rises  from  his 
bed,  dresses  himself,  descends,  forces  himself  on 
horseback  and  rides  forth,  defying  disease  and  pain. 
Alas!  he  is  soon  brought  back  to  the  donjon  tower 
and  carried  up  the  stairs  speechless  and  in  mortal 
agony  to  his  bed.  Fever  and  delirium  ensue,  but 
as  the  death  shadows  gather  round  him  weakness 
clears  his  brain. 

"  I  am  dying,"  says  he,  faintly,  addressing  D'An- 
gennes,  who  never  leaves  him  for  an  instant ;  "send 
for  my  son  Henry." 

"  Sire,"  replies  the  Count,  "  his  highness  is  already 
here." 

"  Let  him  come  to  me  at  once  ;  my  breath  fails  me 
fast." 

The  Prince  enters  and  kneels  beside  the  dying 
King.  He  weeps  bitterly,  takes  his  father's  already 
cold  hand  in  his  own  and  kisses  it.  Francis  feebly 
returns  the  pressure.  He  turns  his  sunken  eyes  to- 


54  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

wards  his  son  and  signs  that  he  would  speak.  Henry, 
the  better  to  catch  his  words,  rises  and  bends  over 
him. 

"  My  son,  I  have  been  a  great  sinner,"  falters  the 
dying  King,  "  my  passions  led  me  astray  ;  avoid  this, 
Henry.  If  I  have  done  well,  follow  that,  not  the 
evil." 

"  Sire,"  replies  the  Prince,  "  we  all  love  and  honour 
your  Majesty." 

"  Cherish  France,  my  son,"  continues  the  King ; 
"  it  is  a  noble  nation.  They  refused  me  nothing  in 
my  adversity,  nor  will  they  you,  if  you  rule  them 
rightly.  Lighten  the  taxes,  my  son, — be  good  to  my 
people." 

His  voice  grows  fainter  and  less  distinct,  his  face 
more  ashen. 

The  Prince,  seeing  his  lips  move,  but  hearing  no 
sound,  lays  his  ear  close  to  his  father's  mouth. 

"  Commend  me  to  Catherine,  your  wife  ;  beware  of 
the  Guises  ;  they  will  strip  you  ;  they  are  all  traitors  * ; 
cherish  my  people."  He  spoke  no  more. 

The  Prince  motions  to  D'Angennes,  and  the  parish 
priest  with  his  acolytes  enters,  bearing  the  Host. 
Speechless,  but  conscious,  with  a  look  of  infinite 
devotion,  Francis  receives  the  sacraments.  Then, 
turning  his  dying  eyes  towards  his  son,  he  feebly 
raises  his  hands  to  bless  him. 

Henry,  overcome  by  the  sight  of  his  dying  father, 
sinks  prostrate  beside  the  bed.  D'Angennes  stands 
at  the  head,  supporting  his  dying  master  in  his  arms  ; 
while  he  wipes  the  moisture  from  his  forehead, 
Francis  expires. 

*  See  Note  5. 


Catherine  de    Medici.  55 


CHAPTER   IX. 

CATHERINE    DE*    MEDICI. 

CATHERINE  de'  Medici,  widow  of  Henry  II., 
and  mother  of  three  kings  regnant,  rules  France 
in  their  name.  Her  father,  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Urbino, 
second  tyrant  of  Florence,  died  before  she  was  born  ; 
her  mother,  Madaleine  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne  (for 
Catherine  had  French  blood  in  her  veins),  died  when 
she  was  born  ;  so  fatal  was  this  Medici,  even  at  her 
birth. 

The  Duchessina,  as  Catherine  was  called,  was 
reared  by  her  aunt  Clarice  Sforza,  within  the  mediae- 
val stronghold  of  the  Medici  at  Florence — now 
known  as  the  Riccardi  Palace.  Although  bereft  of 
palisade  and  towers  of  defence,  it  is  still  a  stately  pile 
of  Italian  Gothic  architecture,  with  pillared  cortile, 
ornate  front,  and  sculptured  cornice,  bidding  a  mute 
defiance  to  the  encroachments  of  the  modern  build- 
ings of  the  Via  Cavour,  the  Corso  of  the  City  of 
Flowers. 

Catherine  was  educated  by  the  nuns  of  the  "  Mu- 
rate  "  (walled  up),  in  their  convent  near  the  Porta 
Santa  Croce.  The  teaching  of  these  lonely  enthusiasts 
strangely  contrasted  with  the  life  she  afterwards  led 
in  the  Florentine  Court — a  very  hot-bed  of  vice,  in- 
trigue, and  ambition.  There  did  this  Medea  of  the 
Cinque-cento  learn  how  to  dissimulate  and  to  betray. 
At  fifteen  she  became,  by  the  favour  of  her  uncle, 
Pope  Clement  VII.,  the  richest  heiress  in  Europe. 
She  was  tall  and  finely  formed,  of  a  clear  olive  com- 


56  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

plexion  (inherited  from  her  French  mother),  with 
well-cut  features,  and  large,  prominent  eyes,  like  all 
the  Medici.  Her  manners  were  gracious,  her  coun- 
tenance expressive,  but  there  was,  even  in  extreme 
youth,  a  fixed  and  cold  expression  on  the  statuesque 
face  that  belied  these  pleasant  attributes.  Many 
suitors  sought  her  hand,  but  Clement  VII.,  outraged 
at  the  brutality  of  the  Spanish  coalition  against  him 
under  Charles  V.,  which  had  resulted  in  the  sack  of 
Rome  and  his  own  imprisonment  in  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo,  was  glad  to  spite  his  enemies  by  bestowing 
his  wealthy  niece  on  the  Due  d'Orl^ans,  son  of 
Francis  I.  As  the  heiress  of  the  Medici  came  of  a 
republican  race  of  merchant  princes,  mere  mushrooms 
beside  the  lofty  antiquity  of  the  Valois  line,  the 
Pope,  to  give  greater  lustre  to  the  espousals,  an- 
nounced that  he  would  himself  conduct  his  niece  to 
her  future  husband.  At  Leghorn,  Catherine  embarked 
with  her  uncle  in  a  sumptuous  papal  galley,  attended 
by  his  tonsured  Court.  A  flotilla  of  boats  accom- 
panied the  vice-regent  of  God  upon  earth,  and  his 
niece,  the  sparkling  DucJiessina.  Fair  winds  and 
smooth  seas  soon  wafted  them  to  the  French  shore, 
where  Francis  and  his  sons  awaited  their  arrival  at 
Marseilles. 

Francis,  says  Brantome,  was  so  charmed  with  the 
Medici  bride,  her  intelligence  and  lively  manners,  that 
'he  romped  with  her  the  entire  evening  after  her  ar- 
rival. When  Francis  found  that  she  danced  admir- 
ably, that  she  shot  with  an  arquebuse  like  a  trooper, 
played  at  maille  like  a  boy,  and  rode  boldly  and 
gracefully,  his  partiality  to  his  new  daughter-in-law 
knew  no  bounds.  What  was  the  opinion  of  the 


Catherine  de    Medici.  57 

bridegroom  Orleans,  and  what  comparison  he  made 
between  a  bride  of  fifteen  and  a  mistress  of  thirty- 
five,  is  not  recorded.  There  was  nearly  twenty 
years  difference  in  age  between  Prince  Henry,  Due 
d'Orteans,  a  mere  boy,  and  Diane  de  Poitiers,  yet 
her  influence  over  him  was  still  absolute.  To  the 
day  of  his  death  he  wore  her  colours — white  and 
black — upon  his  shield.  Diane,  secure  in  power,  was 
rather  proud  of  her  age.  She  boasted  to  the  new 
Duchess  that  she  was  never  ill,  that  she  rose  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  bathed  in  the  coldest  water, 
and  rode  two  hours  before  breakfast. 

When  Catherine  first  appeared  at  the  Louvre  as 
the  bride  of  Prince  Henry,  she  seemed  but  a  clever, 
facile  girl,  ready  to  accept  her  humiliating  position 
as  subordinate  in  power,  influence,  and  beauty  to  her 
husband's  mistress,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  as  well  as  to 
the  Duchesse  d'Etampes,  the  favourite  of  Francis. 
Placed  among  these  two  women  and  the  lonely  Span- 
ish Queen,  Elinor  of  Portugal,  for  fourteen  years  she 
acquitted  herself  with  the  most  perfect  temper  and 
discretion.  Indeed,  with  strange  self-command  in  one 
so  young,  she  endeavoured  to  flatter  both  the  favour- 
ites, but  failing  to  propitiate  either  Diane  or  the 
Duchess,  and  not  being  able  to  attract  her  husband 
or  to  interest  the  sedate  Spaniard,  she  devoted  her- 
self wholly  to  charm  her  father-in-law,  Francis.  She 
became  the  constant  and  beloved  companion  of  his 
various  progresses  and  hunting-parties  to  Fontaine- 
bleau,  Amboise,  Chenonceau,  and  Loches.  No  court 
pageants  these,  on  ambling  pads  over  smooth  lawns, 
among  limber  trees,  with  retinue  of  velvet-liveried 
menials  on  the  watch  for  any  possible  casualty  ;  but 


58  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

hard  and  dangerous  riding  in  search  of  boars,  and 
wolves,  and  stags,  over  a  rough  country,  among  thick 
underwood,  rocky  hills,  and  precipitous  uplands. 

Thus  Catherine  seemed ;  but  in  her  heart  she  de- 
spised the  Duchess,  abhorred  Diane,  and  suffered 
all  the  mortification  of  a  neglected  wife.  Diane  did 
not  moreover  spare  her  feelings,  but  insolently  and 
ostentatiously  paraded  her  superior  influence,  espe- 
cially after  Prince  Henry  came  to  the  throne  and 
created  her  Duchesse  de  Valentinois. 

Catherine,  however,  with  marvellous  self-command 
bore  all  meekly,  brought  the  King  ten  children,  and 
for  fourteen  years  bided  her  time.  And  that  time 
came  sooner  than  either  the  wife  or  the  mistress 
expected. 


CHAPTER    X. 

A   FATAL  JOUST. 

IT  is  the  wedding-day  of  the  two  princesses,  Eliza- 
beth and  Marguerite  ;  the  first  a  daughter,  the 
latter  a  sister,  of  Henry  II.     A  tournament  is  to  be 
held  in  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine,  near  the  Palace  des 
Tournelles,  so  called  from  its  many  towers.* 

King  Henry  and  the  elder  princes,  his  sons,  are  to 
ride  in  the  lists  and  to  break  a  lance  freely  with  all 
comers.  Queen  Catherine  and  the  brides — Elizabeth, 
the  very  youthful  wife  of  the  morose  Philip  II.  of 
Spain,  lately  husband  of  Mary  Tudor,  known  as 
Bloody  Mary,  now  deceased  ;  Marguerite,  wife  of 
*  See  Note  7. 


A  Fatal   Joust.  59 

the  Duke  of  Savoy,  and  Marguerite  de  Valois,  second 
daughter  of  Catherine,  then  but  a  child — are  seated 
in  the  centre  of  an  open  dais  covered  with  dama- 
scened silk,  and  ornamented  with  feathers,  tassels 
and  gaudy  streamers,  which  flutter  in  the  summer 
breeze.  Behind  them  are  ranged  the  greatest  ladies 
of  the  Court,  among  whom  Diane  de  Poitiers,  now 
Duchesse  de  Valentinois,  occupies  the  place  of 
honour.  The  ladies  in  waiting  on  the  Queen  and 
the  great  officers  of  state  are  ranged  at  the  back. 

It  is  a  lovely  morning  in  the  month  of  July.  The 
summer  sun  lights  up  the  gay  dresses  and  fair  faces 
of  the  Court  into  a  glowing  parterre  of  bright  colours. 
At  a  signal  from  Queen  Catherine  bands  of  wind 
instruments  burst  into  martial  music ;  the  com- 
batants enter  the  arena  and  divide  themselves  into 
different  squadrons.  First  rides  the  King  at  the 
head  of  his  knights.  His  appearance  is  the  signal 
for  all  to  rise,  as  much  out  of  respect  to  him  as  the 
better  to  observe  his  chivalrous  bearing  and  mag- 
nificent accoutrements.  He  wears  a  suit  of  armour 
in  which  gold  is  the  chief  metal.  His  sword-handle 
and  dagger  are  set  with  jewels,  and  from  his  shield 
and  lance  fly  streamers  of  black  and  white — the 
colours  of  Diane  de  Poitiers.  He  rides  a  Spanish 
barb,  caparisoned  with  crimson  velvet,  that  tosses 
his  head  and  curvets  proudly,  as  if  conscious  of  its 
royal  burden.  Three  times  the  King  passes  round 
the  list  within  the  barriers,  preceded  by  pages  and 
esquires  bearing  shields  bound  with  ribbons,  on 
which  are  engraven,  in  letters  of  gold  or  of  gems,  the 
initials  of  their  masters'  ladye-loves.  The  King  is 
followed  by  squadrons  of  knights.  All  range  them- 


60  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

selves  near  the  open  dais  occupied  by  the  queens 
and  the  princesses. 

A  herald  in  a  parti-coloured  dress  advances  into 
the  centre  of  the  open  space,  and  to  the  sound  of 
trumpet  proclaims  that  the  lists  are  open.  The 
barriers  are  then  lowered  by  the  pages  and  the 
esquires,  and  the  tilting  begins. 

Catherine  looks  on  with  a  troubled  countenance. 
Her  eyes  incessantly  follow  the  King  and  watch  his 
every  movement.  As  knight  after  knight  is  un- 
horsed and  rolls  in  the  dust,  and  loud  cries  and 
shouts  of  laughter  rise  at  each  discomfiture  above 
the  tumult  of  the  fight,  the  anxious  expression  on 
her  face  never  changes.  •  Now  and  then,  when  the 
King,  excited  by  the  mimic  warfare,  deals  and  re- 
ceives hard  blows  and  vigorous  lance  thrusts,  Cath- 
erine visibly  trembles.  Like  the  wife  of  Pilate,  "  she 
has  suffered  much  because  of  a  dream  concerning 
him  " — a  dream  that  has  shown  him  to  her,  disfig- 
ured and  dabbled  with  blood,  lying  dead  in  a  strange 
chamber. 

In  the  early  morning  she  had  implored  the  King 
not  to  enter  the  lists,  but  Henry  had  laughed  and 
had  ridden  forth  wearing,  the  colours  of  her  rival. 

Now  the  long  day  is  drawing  to  a  close  ;  the  sun 
is  low  on  the  horizon  and  the  tournament  is  over. 
The  King,  who  has  fought  like  the  son  of  Francis  I., 
and  broken  the  lances  of  the  Dues  de  Ferrara,  Guise, 
and  Nemours,  has  retired  from  the  lists  into  his  tent 
to  unarm.  The  young  princes  have  dismounted 
and  ascended  into  the  dais  beside  their  mother  and 
the  brides.  Catherine  breathes  again  ;  the  King  is 
safe — her  dream  but  the  coinage  of  her  brain  !  But 


DIANE  DE  POITIERS. 


A  Fatal  Joust.  61 

hark !  the  faint  sound  of  a  trumpet  is  heard,  pro- 
ceeding from  the  extremity  of  the  long  street  of 
Saint-Antoine.  The  Queen  grows  pale  and  bends 
her  ear  to  listen.  The  sound  comes  nearer ;  it  be- 
comes more  distinct  at  each  fresh  blast.  Now  it  is 
at  hand,  and  as  the  shrill  and  ill-omened  notes  strike 
her  ear,  a  herald  advances  preceded  by  a  trumpeter, 
and  announces  that  a  masked  knight  has  arrived  and 
challenges  his  Majesty  to  break  a  lance  with  him  in 
honour  of  his  lady. 

The  masked  knight,  habited  entirely  in  black 
armour,  rides  into  the  arena.  Certain  of  the  fatal 
event,  the  Queen  rises  abruptly  from  her  seat.  Her 
countenance  expresses  absolute  terror.  She  beckons 
hastily  to  the  Comte  d'O,  who  is  in  attendance.  "  Go," 
says  she  in  a  low  voice,  speaking  rapidly  ;  "  go  at 
once  to  the  King.  Tell  him  if  he  fights  with  this 
stranger  he  will  die ! — tell  him  so  from  me.  Haste ! 
for  the  love  of  the  Virgin,  haste  !  " 

No  sooner  has  the  Comte  d'O  left  her,  than,  lean- 
ing over  the  dais,  Catherine,  with  clasped  hands  and 
eager  eyes,  watches  him  as  he  crosses  the  enclosure. 
She  sees  him  parley  with  the  King,  who  is  replacing 
his  casque  and  arranging  his  armour.  Henry  laughs. 
The  Queen  turns  to  the  young  Comte  de  la  Molle, 
who  is  near — "  Call  up  hither  his  Majesty  to  me 
instantly.  Tell  him  he  must  come  up  to  me  here 
before  he  enters  the  lists.  It  is  for  life  or  death 
—the  life  of  the  King.  Go  !  fly !  " 

This  second  messenger  crosses  to  where  Henry  is 
just  mounting  on  horseback.  "Alas  !  alas  !  he  does 
not  heed  my  messenger.  Let  me  go,"  cries  the 
Queen  in  the  most  violent  agitation  ;  "  I  will  myself 


62  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

descend  and  speak  with  his  Majesty."  She  rushes 
forward  through  the  astonished  courtiers  to  where  a 
flight  of  steps  leads  below  into  the  enclosure.  As  her 
foot  is  on  the  topmost  stair,  she  sees  the  King  gallop 
forth,  fully  equipped,  in  face  of  the  masked  knight. 
The  Queen  is  ashy  pale,  her  large  eyes  are  fixed  on 
the  King,  her  white  lips  tremble.  She  stands  motion- 
less, supported  by  the  balustrade.  Her  daughters, 
the  brides,  and  her  ladies  gather  round  her,  full  of 
wonder.  By  a  great  effort  she  masters  her  agitation, 
and  slowly  turns  back  into  a  retiring-room  behind 
the  dais,  and  seats  herself  on  her  chair  of  state. 
Then  with  solemn  gesture  she  addresses  herself  to 
the  princesses — 

"  Elizabeth,  my  daughter,  and  you,  Marguerite, 
come  hither.  My  sons,  Francis  and  Charles,  come 
to  me  all  of  you  quickly."  At  her  invitation  they 
assemble  around  her  in  astonishment.  "Alas  !  my 
children,  you  are  all  orphans  and  I  am  a  widow.  I 
have  seen  it.  It  is  true.  Now,  while  I  speak,  the 
lance  is  pointed  that  will  pierce  the  King.  Your 
father  must  die,  my  children.  I  know  it  and  I  cannot 
save  him." 

While  they  all  press  with  pitying  looks  around  her, 
trying  to  console  yet  unable  to  comprehend  her 
meaning,  she  slowly  rises.  "  Let  us,  my  children," 
says  she  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  pray  for  the  King's 
soul."  She  casts  herself  on  the  ground  and  folds 
her  hands  in  silent  prayer.  Her  children  kneel  around 
her.  There  is  a  great  silence.  Then  a  loud  cry  is 
heard  from  below — "The  King  is  wounded  ;  the  King 
is  unhorsed  ;  the  King  bleeds  ;  en  avant  to  the  King !  " 
Catherine  rises.  She  is  calm  now  and  perfectly  com- 


The  Widowed  Queen.  63 

posed.  She  approaches  the  wooden  steps  leading 
into  the  arena  below.  There  she  sees,  stretched  on 
the  ground,  the  King  insensible,  his  face  bathed  in 
blood,  pierced  in  the  eye  by  the  lance  of  the  masked 
knight,  who  has  fled.  Henry  is  mortally  wounded, 
and  is  borne,  as  the  Queen  saw  in  her  dream,  into  a 
strange  chamber  in  the  Palace  des  Tournelles,  hard 
by.  After  some  days  of  horrible  agony  he  expires, 
aged  forty-one.  The  masked  knight  struck  but  a 
random  blow,  and  was  held  innocent  of  all  malice. 
He  was  the  Sieur  de  Montgomeri,  ancestor  of  the 
present  Earls  of  Eglinton. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   WIDOWED   QUEEN. 

EVEN  while  the  King  lay  dying,  Catherine  gave  a 
taste  of  her  vindictive  character  by  ordering 
Diane  de  Poitiers  instantly  to  quit  the  Louvre ;  to  de- 
liver up  the  crown  jewels  ;  and  to  make  over  the  pos- 
session of  the  Chateau  of  Chenonceau,  in  Touraine,  to 
herself.  Chenonceau  was  Catherine's  "  Naboth's 
vineyard."  From  a  girl,  when  she  had  often  visited 
it  in  company  with  her  father-in-law,  Francis,  she  had 
longed  to  possess  this  lovely  woodland  palace,  beside 
the  clear  waters  of  the  river  Cher.  To  her  inex- 
pressible disgust,  her  husband,  when  he  became 
King,  presented  it  to  "  the  old  hag,"  Diane,  Duchesse 
de  Valentinois. 

When   Diane,  sitting  lonely  at    the  Louvre,    for 
Henry  II.  was  dying  at  the  Palace  des  Tournelles, 


64  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

received  the  Queen's  message,  she  turned  indignantly 
to  the  messenger  and  angrily  asked,  "Is  the  King 
then  dead?"  "No,  madame,  but  his  wound  is  pro- 
nounced mortal;  he  cannot  last  out  the  day." 

"  Tell  the  Queen,"  said  Diane  haughtily,  "  that  her 
reign  has  not  yet  begun.  I  am  mistress  over  her  and 
the  kingdom  as  long  as  the  King  lives.  If  he  dies  I 
care  little  how  much  she  insults  me.  I  shall  be  too 
wretched  even  to  heed  her." 

As  Regent,  Catherine's  real  character  appeared. 
She  revelled  in  power.  Gifted  with  a  masculine  under- 
standing and  a  thorough  aptitude  for  state  business, 
she  was  also  inscrutable,  stern,  and  cruel.  She  be- 
lieved in  no  one,  and  had  faith  in  nothing  save  the 
prediction  of  astrologers  and  the  course  of  the  stars, 
to  which  she  gave  unquestioning  belief.  As  in  the 
days  of  her  girlhood,  Catherine  (always  armed  with 
a  concealed  dagger,  its  blade  dipped  in  poison)  traded 
on  the  weaknesses  of  those  around  her.  She  in- 
trigued when  she  could  not  command,  and  fascinated 
the  victim  she  dared  not  attack.  All  who  stood  in 
the  way  of  her  ambition  were  "removed."  None  can 
tell  how  many  she  hurried  to  an  untimely  grave. 
The  direful  traditions  of  her  race,  the  philters,  the 
perfumes,  the  powders,  swift  and  deadly  poisons, 
were  imported  by  her  into  France.  Her  cunning 
hands  could  infuse  death  into  the  fairest  and  the  fresh- 
est flowers.  She  had  poisons  for  gloves  and  handker- 
chiefs, for  the  folds  of  royal  robes,  for  the  edge  of 
gemmed  drinking  cups,  for  rich  and  savory  dishes. 
She  stands  accused  of  having  poisoned  the  Queen  cf 
Navarre,  mother  of  Henry  IV.,*"  in  a  pair  of  gloves ; 

*  See  Note  8. 


Tke  Widowed  Queen.  65 

and,  spite  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  Sebastian 
Montecucolli,  she  was  held  guilty  of  having  com- 
passed the  death  of  her  brother-in-law,  the  Dauphin, 
in  a  cup  of  water,  thus  opening  the  throne  for  her 
husband  and  herself. 

Within  her  brain,  fertile  in  evil,  was  conceived  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew — to  exceed  the  hor- 
rors of  the  Sicilian  Vespers  under  John  of  Procida — 
the  plan  of  which  she  discussed  years  before  the 
event  with  Philip  II.  and  his  minister,  the  Duke  of 
Alva,  whom  she  met  at  Bayonne,  when  she  visited 
there  her  daughter,  Elizabeth  of  Spain.  Catherine 
was  true  to  no  party  and  faithful  to  no  creed.  Dur- 
ing her  long  government  she  cajoled  alike  Catholics 
and  Protestants.  She  balanced  Guise  against  Coligni, 
and  Conde  against  Navarre,  as  suited  her  immediate 
purpose.  Provided  the  end  she  proposed  was  at- 
tained, she  cared  nothing  for  the  means.  Although 
attached  to  her  children  in  infancy,  before  supreme 
power  had  come  within  her  grasp,  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  sacrifice  them  later  to  her  political  intrigues. 

For  her  youngest  daughter — the  bewitching  Mar- 
guerite, frail  Queen  of  Navarre — she  cared  not  at  all. 
Her  autobiography  is  filled  with  details  of  her 
mother's  falseness  and  unkindness.  As  to  her  sons, 
all — save  Francis,  who  died  at  eighteen — were  in- 
itiated early  into  vice.  Their  hands  were  soon  red 
with  blood.  Long  before  they  reached  manhood 
they  were  steeped  in  debauchery  and  left  the  cares 
of  government  entirely  to  their  mother.  Her  Court 
— an  oasis  of  delight  and  artistic  repose,  in  an  age 
of  bloodshed  (for  Catherine  was  a  true  Medici,  and 
loved  artists  and  the  art,  splendour  and  expenditure) 

VOL.  I.—  5 


66  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

— was  as  fatal  as  the  gardens  of  Armida  to  virtue, 
truth,  and  honour.  She  surrounded  herself  with  dis- 
sipated nobles,  subservient  courtiers,  venal  nymphs, 
and  impure  enchantresses,  all  ready  to  barter  their 
souls  and  bodies  in  the  service  of  their  Queen.  The 
names  of  the  forty  noble  demoiselles  by  whom  Cath- 
erine was  always  attended,  are  duly  recorded  by 
Brantome. 

"  Know,  my  cousin,"  said  the  Queen,  speaking  to 
the  Due  de  Guise,  "  that  my  maids  of  honour  are 
the  best  allies  of  the  royal  cause." 

She  imported  ready-witted  Italians,  actors  and 
singers,  who  played  at  a  theatre  within  the  Hotel 
Bourbon  at  Paris ;  saltimbanqucs  and  rope-dancers, 
who  paraded  the  streets  ;  astrologers,  like  Ruggiero  ; 
jewellers,  like  Zametti  ;  and  bankers,  like  Gondi. 
These  men  were  ready  to  sell  themselves  for  any 
infamy  ;  to  call  on  the  stars  for  confirmation  of  their 
prophesies  ;  to  tempt  spendthrift  princes  with  ample 
supply  of  ready  cash  ;  to  insinuate  themselves  into 
the  confidence  of  unwary  nobles  ;  all  to  serve  their 
royal  mistress  as  spies. 

A  woman  of  such  powerful  mind,  infinite  resource, 
and  unscrupulous  will,  overawed  and  oppressed  her 
children.  During  the  three  successive  reigns  of  her 
sons,  Francis  II.,  Charles  IX.,  and  Henry  III.,  Cath- 
erine ruled  with  the  iron  hand  of  a  mediaeval  despot. 
Yet  her  cruelty,  perfidy,  and  statescraft,  were  worse 
than  useless.  She  lived  to  see  the  chivalric  race  of 
Valois  degraded  ;  her  favourite  child  Anjou,  Henry 
III.,  driven  like  a  dog  from  Paris,  by  Henri  de  Guise : 
and  son  after  son  go  down  childless  to  a  dishonoured 
grave. 


Mary  Stuart  and  Her  Husband.          67 
CHAPTER  XII. 

MARY   STUART   AND    HER   HUSBAND. 

FRANCIS  II.,  aged  sixteen,  eldest  son  of  Henry 
II. ,  is  nominally  King  of  France.  He  is  gentle 
and  affectionate  (strange  qualities  for  a  son  of  Cath- 
erine), well  principled,  and  not  without  understand- 
ing. Born  with  a  feeble  constitution  and  badly 
educated,  he  lacks  vigour  both  of  mind  and  body  to 
grasp  the  reigns  of  government  in  a  period  so  stormy 
— a  period  when  Guise  is  at  variance  with  Conde, 
and  the  nation  is  distracted  between  Catholic  and 
Protestant  intrigues.  Though  yet  a  boy,  Francis  is 
married  to  Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scotland,  daughter 
of  James  V.  and  Mary  of  Lorraine,  and  niece  to  the 
Due  de  Guise  and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine. 

Francis  and  Mary  have  known  each  other  from 
earliest  childhood.  At  the  age  of  five  the  little 
Scottish  Princess  was  sent  to  the  Louvre  to  be  edu- 
cated with  her  royal  cousins.  Even  at  that  tender 
age  she  was  the  delight  and  wonder  of  the  Court — 
a  little  northern  rosebud,  transplanted  into  a  southern 
climate,  by-and-by  to  expand  into  a  perfect  flower. 
Her  sweet  temper,  beauty,  and  winning  manners 
gained  all  hearts.  She  was,  moreover,  says  Brantome, 
quiet,  discreet,  and  accomplished.  Accomplished, 
indeed,  as  well  as  learned,  for,  at  fourteen,  the  fasci- 
nating girl  recited  a  Latin  oration  of  her  own  com- 
position in  the  great  gallery  of  the  Louvre,  before 
her  future  father-in-law,  King  Henry,  and  the  whole 
Court,  to  the  effect  "  that  women  ought  to  rival,  if 


68  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

not  to  excel,  men  in  learning."  She  spoke  with  such 
composure,  her  voice  was  so  melodious,  her  gesture 
so  graceful,  and  her  person  so  lovely,  that  the  King 
publicly  embraced  her,  and  swore  a  great  oath  that 
she  alone  was  fit  to  marry  with  the  Dauphin.  Forth- 
with he  betrothed  her  to  his  son  Francis.  This 
marriage  between  a  youth  and  a  girl  yet  in  their 
teens  was  a  dream  of  love,  short,  but  without  alloy. 

Catherine  rules,  and  Francis  and  Mary  Stuart,  too 
young  and  careless  to  desire  any  life  but  a  perpetual 
holiday  in  each  others  company,  tremble  at  her 
frown  and  implicitly  obey  her. 

Now  and  then  Mary's  maternal  uncles,  the  princes 
of  Lorraine,  Francis,  the  great  Due  de  Guise  (the 
same  who  took  Calais  and  broke  the  English  Queen's 
heart),  and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  the  proudest 
and  falsest  prelate  in  the  sacred  college,*  endeavour 
to  traverse  the  designs  of  Catherine,  and  to  inspire 
their  beautiful  niece  with  a  taste  for  intrigue — under 
their  guidance,  be  it  well  understood.  But  all  such 
attempts  are  useless.  Mary  loves  poetry  and  music, 
revels  in  banquets  and  masques,  hunts  and  games, 
and  toys  with  her  boy-husband,  of  whose  society 
she  never  wearies. 

Nevertheless,  the  Queen-mother  hates  her,  accuses 
her  of  acting  the  part  of  a  spy  for  her  uncles,  the 
Guises,  and,  sneering,  speaks  of  her  as  "  une  petite 
reinette  qui  fait  tourner  toutes  les  tetes." 

The   Court    is   at  Amboise,  that    majestic  castle 

planted  on  a  pile  of  sombre  rocks  that  cast  gloomy 

shadows  across  the  waters  of  the  Loire,  widened  at 

this    spot  into  the  magnitude  of    a  lake,  the    river 

*  See  Note  9. 


Mary  Stuart  and  Her  Husband.         69 

being  divided  by  an  island  and  crossed  by  two 
bridges. 

Over  these  bridges  they  come,  a  glittering  proces- 
sion, preceded  by  archers  and  attended  by  pages  and 
men-at-arms.  Francis  rides  in  front  ;  he  is  tall, 
slight,  and  elegantly  formed,  and  sits  his  horse  with 
elegant  grace.  His  grey,  almond-shaped  eyes  sparkle 
as  he  turns  them  upon  the  young  Queen  riding  at 
his  side.  Mary  is  seated  on  a  dark  palfrey.  She  is 
dressed  in  a  white  robe,  fastened  from  the  neck 
downwards  with  jewelled  buttons.  The  robe  itself 
is  studded  with  gold  embroidery  and  trimmed  with 
ermine.  A  ruff  of  fine  lace,  and  a  chain  of  gold,  from 
which  hangs  a  medallion,  are  round  her  slender 
throat.  Her  hair  is  drawn  back  from  her  forehead, 
and  a  little  pointed  cap,  set  with  jewels,  to  which  is 
attached  a  thin  white  veil  falling  behind,  sets  off  the 
chiselled  features,  the  matchless  eyes,  and  exquisite 
complexion  of  her  fair  young  face. 

Catherine  and  the  Due  de  Guise,  the  Cardinal  de 
Lorraine  and  the  Due  de  Nemours  follow.  Behind 
them  the  gay  multitude  of  a  luxurious  Court  fills  up 
the  causeway.  Francis  has  a  prepossessing  face,  but 
looks  pale  and  ill.  As  they  ride,  side  by  side,  Mary 
watches  him  with  tender  anxiety.  Her  sweet  eyes 
rest  on  him  as  she  speaks, 'and  she  caressingly 
places  her  hand  upon  his  saddle-bow  as  they  ascend 
the  rocky  steep  leading  to  the  castle. 

When  they  dismount,  the  Queen-mother — her  hard 
face  set  into  a  frown — passes,  without  speaking  a 
word,  into  her  own  apartments.  The  Due  de  Guise 
and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine  also  retire  with  gloomy 
looks.  Not  a  single  word  do  either  of  them  address 


70  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

to  Francis  or  to  Mary.  The  young  sovereigns  enter 
the  royal  chambers,  a  stately  suite  of  apartments, 
the  lofty  windows  of  which,  reaching  from  ceiling  to 
floor,  overlook  the  river.  Folding  doors  open  into  a 
gallery  wainscoted  with  oak  richly  gilt,  with  a  carved 
ceiling  richly  emblazoned  with  coats-of-arms.  The 
walls  are  covered  with  crimson  brocade  set  in  heavy 
frames  of  carved  gold  ;  chandeliers  of  glittering  pen- 
dants hang  from  open  rafters  formed  of  various- 
coloured  wood  arranged  in  mosaic  patterns.  Beyond 
is  a  retiring  room,  hung  with  choice  tapestry  of 
flowers  and  fruit  on  a  violet  ground,  let  into  arabesque 
borders  of  white  and  gold.  Inlaid  tables  of  marble 
bear  statues  and  tazzas  of  alabaster  and  enamel. 
Clustered  candelabra  of  coloured  Venetian  glass 
hold  perfumed  candles,  and  the  flowers  of  the  spring 
are  placed  in  cups  and  vases  of  rarest  pottery. 

Mary,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand,  dismisses  her  at- 
tendants. Francis  sinks  into  a  chair  beside  an  open 
window,  utterly  exhausted.  He  sighs,  leans  back 
his  head,  and  closes  his  eyes. 

" Mon  amour"  says  Mary,  throwing  her  arms 
round  him,  and  kissing  his  white  lips,  "  you  are  very 
weary.  Tell  me — why  is  the  Queen-mother  so  grave 
and  silent  ?  When  I  spoke  she  did  not  answer  me. 
My  uncles,  too,  frighten  me  with  their  black  looks. 
Tell  me,  Francis,  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Done,  sweetest  ? — nothing,"  answered  Francis, 
unclosing  his  eyes,  and  looking  at  her.  "  Our  mother 
is  busied  with  affairs  of  state,  as  are  also  your  uncles. 
There  is  much  to  disquiet  them."  Francis  draws 
her  closer  to  him,  laying  his  head  upon  her  shoulder 
wearily,  and  again  closing  his  eyes.  "  It  is  some  con- 


Mary  Stuart  and  Her  Husband.         71 

spiracy  against  her  and  your  uncles — the  Guises — 
mignonne"  added  he,  whispering  into  her  ear. 

"  Conspiracy  !  Holy  Virgin,  how  dreadful !  Why 
did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  we  left  Blois?  " 

"  I  feared  to  frighten  you,  dear  love,  ere  we  were 
safe  within  the  thick  walls  of  this  old  fortress." 

Mary  starts  up  and  seizes  his  hand. 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me,"  she  says,  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
"what  is  this  conspiracy?" 

"A  plot  of  the  Huguenots,  in  which  Conde  and 
the  Coligni  are  concerned,"  replies  Francis,  roused  by 
her  vehemence  into  attention.  "  Did  you  not  mark 
how  suddenly  our  uncle,  Francis  of  Guise,  appeared 
at  Blois,  and  that  he  was  closeted  with  her  Majesty 
for  hours  ?  "  Mary,  her  eyes  extended  to  their  utmost 
limit  and  fixed  on  his,  bows  her  head  in  assent. 
"  Did  we  not  leave  immediately  after  the  interview 
for  Amboise  ?  Did  not  that  make  you  suspicious?  " 

"  No,  Francis  ;  for  you  said  that  we  came  here  to 
hold  a  joust  and  to  hunt  in  the  forest  of  Chanteloup. 
How  could  I  doubt  your  word  ?  Oh  !  this  is  horrible  !  " 

"  We  came  to  Amboise,  ma  mie,  because  it  is  a 
stronghold,  and  Blois  is  an  open  town." 

"  Do  you  know  no  more?  or  will  you  still  deceive 
me?"  asks  Mary  eagerly,  looking  at  him  with  tearful 
eyes. 

"  My  mother  told  me  that  the  Due  de  Guise  was 
informed  by  the  Catholics  of  England  (which  tidings 
have  been  since  confirmed),  that  the  Huguenots  are 
arming  in  force,  that  they  are  headed  by  Conde,  that 
they  are  plotting  to  imprison  the  Queen-mother  and 
your  uncles,  and  to  carry  you  and  me  to  Paris  by 
force." 


72  Old  Court  Life  iu  France. 

"  By  force?  Would  they  lay  hands  on  us  ?  Oh, 
Francis,  are  we  safe  in  this  castle?  "  exclaims  Mary, 
clasping  her  hands.  "  Will  our  guards  defend  us?  Are 
the  walls  manned  ?  Is  the  town  faithful  ?  Are  there 
plenty  of  troops  to  guard  the  bridges  ?  " 

As  she  speaks,  Mary  trembles  so  violently  that  she 
has  slid  from  her  chair  and  sinks  upon  the  ground, 
clinging  to  Francis  in  an  agony  of  fear. 

"  Courage,  my  reinette  !  rise  up,  and  sit  beside  me," 
and  Francis  raises  her  in  his  arms  and  replaces  her 
on  her  chair.  "  Here  we  are  safe.  This  conspiracy 
is  not  directed  against  us,  Mary.  The  people  say  my 
mother  and  the  Guises  rule,  not  I,  the  anointed  King. 
The  Huguenots  want  to  carry  us  off  to  Paris  for  our 
good.  Pardien  !  I  know  little  of  the  plot  myself  as 
yet ;  my  mother  refused  to  tell  me.  Anyhow,  we  are 
secure  here  at  Amboise  from  Turk,  Jew,  or  Huguenot, 
so  cheer  up,  my  lovely  queen  !  " 

As  Mary  looks  up  again  further  to  question  him, 
he  stops  her  mouth  with  kisses. 

"  Let  us  leave  all  to  the  Queen-mother.  She  is 
wise,  and  governs  for  us  while  we  are  young.  She 
loves  not  to  be  questioned.  Sweetest,  I  am  weary, 
give  me  a  cup  of  wine  ;  let  me  lie  in  your  closet,  and 
you  shall  sing  me  to  sleep  with  your  lute." 

'•'  But,  Francis,"  still  urges  Mary,  gently  disengag- 
ing herself  from  his  arms  as  he  leads  her  away, 
"surely  my  uncles  must  be  in  great  danger;  a  con- 
spiracy perhaps  means  an  assassination.  I  beseech 
you  let  me  go  and  question  them  myself." 

" Nenni"  answers  Francis,  drawing  her  to  him. 
"  You  shall  come  writh  me.  I  will  not  part  with  you 
for  a  single  instant.  Ah  !  mignonne,  if  you  knew  how 


Mary   Stuart  and  Her  Husband.         73 

my  head  aches,  you  would  ask  me  no  more  questions, 
or  I  shall  faint." 

Mary's  expressive  face  changes  as  the  April  sun- 
shine. Her  eyes  fill  with  tears  of  tenderness  as  she 
leads  Francis  to  a  small  closet  in  a  turret  exclusively 
her  own, — a  chinoiserie,  quaint  and  bright  as  the 
plumage  of  a  bird, — and  seats  him,  supported  by  a 
pile  of  pillows,  on  a  couch — luxurious  for  that  period 
of  stiff-backed  chairs  and  wooden  benches. 

"  Talk  to  me,"  says  Francis,  smoothing  her  abun- 
dant hair,  which  hung  in  dark  masses  on  her  shoulders 
as  she  knelt  at  his  feet,  "  or,  better  still,  sing  to  me, 
I  love  to  hear  your  soft  voice ;  only,  no  more  poli- 
tics— not  a  word  of  affairs  of  state,  Mary.  Sing  to 
me  those  verses  you  showed  to  Ronsard,  about  the 
knight  who  leapt  into  a  deep  stream  to  pluck  a  flower 
for  his  love  and  was  drowned  by  the  spell  of  a  jealous 
mermaid  who  watched  him  from  among  the  flags." 

Mary  rises  and  fetches  her  lute.  All  expression 
of  fear  has  left  her  face.  Reassured  by  Francis  and 
occupied  alone  by  him,  she  forgets  not  only  the  Hu- 
guenots and  the  conspiracy,  but  the  whole  world, 
beside  the  boy-husband,  who  bends  lovingly  over  her 
as  she  tries  the  strings  of  her  instrument.  So  let  us 
leave  them  as  they  sit,  two  happy  children,  side  by 
side,  bathed  in  the  brief  sunshine  of  a  changeful  day 
in  March,  now  singing,  now  talking  of  country  fetes, 
especially  of  a  carrousel  to  take  place  on  the  morrow 
in  the  courtyard  of  the  castle,  in  which  the  Grand 
Prieur  is  to  ride  disguised  as  a  gipsy  woman  and 
carry  a  monkey  on  his  back  for  a  child  ! 


74  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  TRAITOR. 

TH  E  Queen-mother  sits  alone  ;  a  look  of  care  over- 
shadows her  face  ;  her  prominent  eyes  are  fixed 
and  glassy.  From  her  window  she  can  gaze  at  an 
old  familiar  scene,  the  terrace  and  parterre  bordered 
by  lime  walks,  planted  by  Francis  I.,  where  she  has 
romped  in  many  a  game  of  cache-cache  with  him. 

Presently  she  rises  and  summons  an  attendant  from 
the  antechamber. 

"  Call  hither  to  me  Maitre  Avenelle,"  says  she  to 
the  dainty  page  who  waits  her  command. 

Avenelle,  a  lawyer  and  a  Huguenot,  is  the  friend 
of  Barri,  Seigneur  de  la  Renaudie,  the  nominal  leader 
of  the  Huguenot  plot ;  of  which  the  Due  de  Guise  has 
been  warned  by  the  Catholics  of  England.  Avenelle 
has,  for  a  heavy  bribe,  been  gained  over  in  Paris  by 
the  Duke's  secretary,  Marmagne ;  he  has  come  to 
Amboise  to  betray  his  friends  "  of  the  religion  "  by 
revealing  to  the  Queen-mother  all  he  knows  of  this 
vast  Huguenot  conspiracy,  secretly  headed  by  the 
Prince  de  Conde  and  by  Admiral  Coligni. 

Avenelle  enters  and  bows  low  before  the  Queen 
who  is  seated  opposite  to  him  at  a  writing-table.  He 
is  sallow  and  wasted-looking,  with  a  grave  face  and 
an  anxious  eye  ;  a  tremor  passes  over  him  as  he  sud- 
denly encounters  the  dark  eyes  of  Catherine  fixed 
upon  him. 

"Have  you  seen  the  Due  de  Guise?"  says  she 
haughtily,  shading  her  face  with  her  hand  the  better 


A  Traitor.  75 

to  observe  him,  as  he  stands  before  her,  motionless, 
and  pale  with  fear. 

"  Yes,  madame,  '  replies  he,  again  humbly  bowing  ; 
"  I  come  now  from  his  chamber,  whither  I  was  con- 
ducted by  M.  Marmagne,  his  secretary." 

"  And  you  have  confided  to  him  all  you  know  of 
this  plot?" 

"  I  have,  madame,  all." 

"  Is  it  entirely  composed  of  Huguenots?" 

"  It  is,  madame." 

"  What  are  the  numbers  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  two  thousand,  your  Majesty." 

Catherine  starts,  the  lines  on  her  face  deepen,  and 
her  eyes  glitter  with  astonishment  and  rage. 

"Who  is  at  the  head  of  these  rebels?  "  she  asks 
suddenly,  after  pausing  a  few  moments. 

Avenelle  trembles  violently ;  the  savage  tone  of 
her  voice  and  her  imperious  manner  show  him  his 
danger.  His  teeth  chatter,  and  drops  of  moisture 
trickle  down  his  forehead.  So  great  is  his  alarm  that, 
in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  reply,  his  voice  fails  him. 
Catherine,  her  eyes  riveted  on  his,  waves  her  hand 
with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Why  do  not  you  answer  me,  Maitre  Avenelle  ? 
If  you  are  waiting  to  invent  a  lie  with  which  to  de- 
ceive me,  believe  me,  such  deceit  is  useless.  The 
torture-chamber  is  at  hand  ;  the  screw  will  make  you 
speak." 

"  Oh,  madame,"  gasps  Avenelle,  making  a  success- 
ful effort  to  recover  his  voice,  "  I  had  no  intention  to 
deceive  your  Majesty ;  I  am  come  to  tell  you  all  I 
know.  It  was  a  passing  weakness  that  overcame 
me." 


76  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Who,  then,  I  again  ask,"  says  the  Queen,  taking 
a  pen  in  her  hand  in  order  to  note  his  reply,  "  who  is 
at  the  head  of  this  plot  ?  " 

"  Madame,  it  is  secretly  headed  by  that  heretic, 
the  Prince  de  Conde.  Coligni  knows  of  it,  as  does 
also  his  brother  d'Andelot,  and  the  Cardinal  de  Cha- 
tillon.  The  nominal  leader,  Barri  de  la  Renaudie,  is 
but  a  subordinate  acting  under  their  orders." 

"  Heretics  do  you  call  them  ;  are  not  you,  then, 
yourself  a  Huguenot?" 

"  Madame,  I  was,"  replies  Avenelle,  obsequiously, 
with  an  effort  to  look  fearless,  for  Catherine's  glitter- 
ing eyes  are  still  upon  him ;  "  but  his  Highness, 
the  Due  de  Guise,  has  induced  me  to  recant  my 
errors." 

"Ah  !  "  says  Catherine,  smiling  sarcastically  ;  "  I  did 
not  know  our  cousin  of  Guise  troubled  himself  with 
the  souls  of  his  enemies.  But  this  La  Renaudie,  was 
he  not  your  friend?  Did  he  not  lodge  with  you  in 
Paris  ?  " 

"  He  did  lodge,  for  a  brief  space,  in  my  house  in 
Paris,  madame  ;  but  I  have  no  friend  that  is  not  a 
loyal  subject  to  your  Majesty."  Avenelle  now  speaks 
more  boldly. 

Catherine  eyes  him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  glance 
of  infinite  contempt.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  this  for 
your  own  sake,  Maitre  Avenelle,"  she  replies  drily. 
"  What  is  the  precise  purpose  of  this  plot  ?  " 

"  Madame,  it  is  said  by  the  Huguenots  that  your 
Majesty,  not  your  son,  his  Majesty  Francis  II., 
governs,  and  that  under  your  rule  no  justice  will  ever 
be  done  to  those  of '  the  religion  ' ;  that  your  Majesty 
seeks  counsel  of  the  Due  de  Guise  and  of  his  brother, 


A  Traitor.  77 

the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  who  are  even  more  bitterly 
opposed  than  yourself  to  their  interests.  Therefore 
they  have  addressed  themselves  to  the  Prince  de 
Conde,  who  is  believed  to  share  their  opinions  both 
political  and  religious,  for  present  redress.  The  con- 
spirators propose,  madame,  to  place  his  Highness  the 
Prince  de  Cond6  on  the  throne  as  Regent,  until  such 
measures  are  taken  as  will  insure  their  independence  ; 
imprison  your  Majesty ;  send  the  young  King  and 
Queen  to  some  unfortified  place — such  as  Blois  or 
Chenonceau — and  banish  the  noble  Duke  and  his 
brother  the  Cardinal  from  France." 

While  Avenelle,  speaking  rapidly,  gives  these 
details,  Catherine  sits  unmoved.  As  he  proceeds  her 
eyes  never  leave  him,  and  her  hands,  singularly  small 
and  delicate,  are  clenched  upon  her  velvet  robe. 
When  he  has  done  speaking  a  look  of  absolute  fury 
passes  over  her  face.  There  is  a  lengthened  silence, 
during  which  her  head  sinks  on  her  breast  and  she 
remains  lost  in  thought.  When  she  looks  up  all  pas- 
sion has  faded  out  of  her  face.  She  appears  as  im- 
passible as  a  statue,  and  speaks  in  a  clear  metallic 
voice  which  betrays  no  vestige  of  emotion. 

"  Have  these  conspirators  many  adherents,  Maitre 
Avenelle  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so,  madame.  Nearly  two  thousand  are 
gathering  together,  from  various  points,  at  Nantes. 
On  the  1 5th  of  the  present  month  of  March  they 
would  have  attacked  Blois.  Had  your  Majesty  not 
received  timely  warning  and  retreated  to  this  forti- 
fied castle,  these  rebellious  gentlemen  would  have 
captured  your  sacred  person  and  that  of  our  Sover- 
eign and  the  young  Queen.  They  would  have  kept 


7  8  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

you  imprisoned  until  you  had  consented  to  abdicate 
the  throne  or  to  dismiss  our  great  Catholic  Princes 
of  Lorraine,  to  whom  and  to  your  Majesty  all  evil 
influence  is  attributed." 

"  Influence?  Yes,  influence  enough  to  punish  trai- 
tors, heretics,  and  spies!"  exclaims  Catherine,  and  she 
darts  a  fierce  look  at  Avenelle,  who,  though  still  pale 
as  death,  is  now  more  composed,  and  meets  her 
glance  without  flinching.  He  knows  his  life  is  in  the 
balance,  and  he  thinks  he  reads  the  Queen-mother 
rightly,  that  he  may  best  ensure  it  by  showing  no 
cowardice. 

"  Is  this  all  you  know,  Maitre  Avenelle?  "says  the 
Queen,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  madame  ;  and  I  trust  you  will  remember 
that  I  have  been  the  means  of  saving  your  Majesty 
and  the  young  King  from  imprisonment,  perhaps 
from  death." 

Catherine  turns  her  terrible  eyes  full  upon  Ave- 
nelle. "  Maitre  Avenelle,  I  appreciate  both  your 
disinterestedness  and  your  loyalty,"  replies  she,  with 
a  bitter  sneer.  "  You,  sir,  will  be  kept  a  prisoner  in 
this  castle  until  his  Majesty's  council  have  tested  the 
truth  of  what  you  say.  We  may  use  such  as  you, 
but  we  mistrust  them  and  we  despise  them.  If  you 
have  spoken  the  truth,  your  life  shall  be  spared,  but 
you  will  leave  France  for  ever.  If  you  have  lied, 
you  will  die."  As  these  words  fall  from  her  lips  and 
are  echoed  through  the  lofty  chamber,  she  strikes  on 
a  sharp  metal  placed  before  her.  Two  guards  im- 
mediately enter  and  remove  Avenelle  in  custody. 

Catherine  again  strikes  on  the  metal  instrument, 
summons  her  attendant,  and  desires  that  Francis, 


A  Traitor.  79 

Due  de  Guise,  and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine  shall 
attend  her. 

In  this  interview  between  the  heads  of  the 
Catholic  party  their  plan  of  action  is  decided.  A 
council  of  state  is  to  be  at  once  called  at  Amboise, 
to  which  the  Huguenot  chiefs,  the  Prince  of  Conde, 
the  Admiral  Coligni,  his  brother  d'Andelot,  the 
Cardinal  de  Chatillon,  and  others  are  to  be  invited 
to  attend  ;  and  a  conciliatory  edict  in  favour  of  the 
Calvinists,  signed  by  the  King,  is  to  be  proclaimed. 

Thus  the  Reformed  party  will  be  thrown  com- 
pletely off  their  guard,  and  La  Renaudie  and  the 
conspirators,  emboldened  by  the  apparent  security 
and  ignorance  of  the  government,  will  gather  about 
Amboise,  the1  better  to  carry  out  their  designs  of 
capturing  the  King,  the  Queen,  and  the  Queen- 
mother,  and  banishing  or  killing  the  Guises,  her 
supposed  evil  counsellors.  But  another  and  secret 
condition  is  appended  to  this  edict  which  would  at 
once,  if  known,  have  awakened  the  suspicions  and 
driven  back  from  any  approach  to  Amboise  both  the 
conspirators  and  the  great  chiefs  of  the  Huguenot 
party. 

This  secret  condition  is  that  Francis,  Due  de 
Guise,  shall  be  forthwith  nominated  Lieutenant- 
General  of  the  kingdom,  and  be  invested  with 
almost  absolute  power. 


8o  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   COUNCIL   OF   STATE. 

THE  council  assembles  in  a  sombre  chamber 
panelled  with  dark  oak,  crossed  by  open 
rafters — a  chamber  that  had  remained  unaltered 
since  the  days  of  Louis  XI.  A  long  table  stands  in 
the  centre  surrounded  with  leather  chairs  heavily 
carved,  on  which  are  seated  the  members  of  the 
council.  Conr'fe,  who  is  of  royal  blood,  takes  the 
highest  place  n  the  Calvinist  side.  He  is  somewhat 
below  middle  height  and  delicately  formed.  His 
complexion  is  fair,  his  face  comely ;  his  dark  eyes, 
sunk  deep  in  his  head,  bright  with  the  power  of  in- 
tellect, are  both  cunning  and  piercing.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  a  veiled  face  and  betrays  nothing.  His  dress  is 
dark  and  simple,  yet  studiously  calculated  to  display- 
to  the  best  advantage  his  supple  and  elegant  figure. 
There  is  an  air  of  authority  about  him  that  betrays 
itself  unwittingly  in  every  glance  he  casts  around 
the  room.  He  is  a  man  born  to  command. 

Next  to  him  is  a  man  older,  sturdier,  rougher ;  a 
powerfully  built  man,  who  sits  erect  and  firm  in  his 
chair.  His  head  is  covered  with  long  white  hair ; 
he  has  overhanging  eyebrows,  a  massive  forehead, 
and  a  firmly-closed  mouth.  His  weather-beaten  face 
and  sunken  cheeks  show  that  he  has  lived  a  life  of 
exposure  and  privation — a  man  thus  to  meet  un- 
moved peril  or  death.  He  wears  a  homely  suit  of 
black  woollen  stuff  much  worn,  and  as  he  sits  he 
leans  forward,  plunged  in  deep  thought.  This  is 


The  Council  of  State.  81 

Admiral  Coligni.  Beside  him  is  his  brother 
D'Andelot,  slighter  and  much  younger :  he  is  dressed 
with  the  same  simplicity  as  the  Admiral,  but  wants 
that  look  of  iron  resolve  and  fanatic  zeal  which  at 
the  first  glance  stamps  Coligny  as  a  hero.  Chatillon 
has  placed  himself  beside  his  brother  prelate  of  Lor- 
raine. Each  wears  the  scarlet  robe  of  a  cardinal, 
over  which  falls  a  deep  edging  of  open  guipure  lace  ; 
their  broad  red  hats,  tasselled  with  silken  cords,  lie 
on  the  table  before  them.  Lorraine  is  thin  and  dark, 
with  a  treacherous  eye  and  a  prevailing  expression 
of  haughty  unconcern.  Chatillon  is  bland  and  mild, 
but  withal  shrewd  and  astute  ;  a  smile  rests  upon  his 
thin  lips  as  his  eyes  travel  round  the  table,  peering 
into  every  face,  while  from  time  to  time  he  whispers 
some  observation  to  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  the 
Minister  of  State,  who  effects  not  to  hear  him. 

A  door  opens  within  a  carved  recess  or  dais  raised 
one  step  from  the  floor,  and  Francis  and  Mary  ap- 
pear. The  whole  council  rises  and  salutes  the  young 
King  and  Queen.  They  seat  themselves  under  a 
purple  velvet  canopy  embroidered  in  gold  with 
fleurs-de-lys  and  the  oriflamme.  They  are  followed 
by  Catherine  and  Francis  Due  de  Guise,  a  man  of 
majestic  presence  and  lofty  stature.  He  is  spare, 
like  the  Cardinal,  but  his  eager  eye  and  sharply  cut 
features,  on  which  many  a  wrinkle  has  gathered, 
proclaim  the  man  of  action  and  the  warrior,  ardent 
in  the  path  of  glory,  prompt,  bold,  and  unscrupulous. 
At  the  sight  of  Coligni,  Cond£,  and  Chatillon  he 
knits  his  brows,  and  a  sinister  expression  passes  over 
his  face  which  deepens  into  a  look  of  actual  cruelty  as 
he  silently  takes  his  place  next  to  Catherine  de'  Medici. 

VOL.  1. — 6 


82  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

The  young  King  and  Queen  sit  motionless  side  by 
side,  like  two  children  who  are  permitted  to  witness 
a  solemn  ceremony  upon  the  promise  of  silence  and 
tranquillity.  They  are  both  curious  and  attentive. 
Not  all  Mary  Stuart's  questions  have  elicited  further 
information  from  her  uncles,  and  Francis,  too  feeble 
in  health  to  be  energetic,  is  satisfied  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  Queen-mother  occupies  herself  with 
affairs  of  state. 

The  Queen-mother,  with  a  curious  smile  upon  her 
face,  stands  for  a  few  moments  on  the  estrade  facing 
the  council-chamber.  She  coldly  receives  the  chiefs  of 
the  Reformed  faith,  but  her  welcome  is  studiously 
polite.  With  the  same  grave  courtesy  she  greets  the 
Guises,  Nemours,  and  the  other  Catholic  princes. 
All  are  now  seated  in  a  circle  of  which  Francis  and 
Mary,  motionless  under  the  canopy  of  state,  form 
the  centre.  Catherine  rises  from  her  chair  and  in  a 
guarded  address  speaks  of  danger  to  the  Crown  from 
the  Huguenot  party,  darkly  hinting  at  a  treasonable 
plot  in  which  some  near  the  throne  are  implicated, 
and  she  calls  on  those  lords  favourable  to  the 
Reformed  religion  for  advice  and  support  in  this 
emergency. 

As  she  speaks  an  evil  light  gathers  in  her  eye, 
especially  when  she  declares  that  she  has  at  this 
time  summoned  her  son's  trusty  counsellors  of  the 
Calvinist  faith  in  order  to  consider  an  edict  of  pacifi- 
cation, calculated  to  conciliate  all  his  Majesty's  sub- 
jects, and  to  rally  all  his  faithful  servants  round  his 
throne. 

Her  composed  and  serious  countenance,  the  grave 
deliberation  of  her  discourse,  her  frank  yet  stately 


The  Council  of  State.  83 

avowal  of  peril  to  the  State  and  desire  for  counsel  in 
an  hour  of  danger,  are  all  so  admirably  simulated 
that  those  not  aware  of  her  perfidy  are  completely 
duped. 

Francis,  her  son,  listens  with  wonder  to  his 
mother's  words,  believing,  as  he  does,  that  she  is 
both  indignant  and  alarmed  -at  the  machinations  of 
that  very  party  she  has  called  to  Amboise  and  which 
she  now  proposes  to  propitiate. 

The  Due  de  Guise,  who  perfectly  understands  her 
drift,  secretly  smiles  at  this  fresh  proof  of  the  dis- 
simulation and  astuteness  of  his  cousin  who  caresses 
ere  she  grasps  her  prey.  When  she  has  ended  he 
loudly  applauds  her  conciliatory  resolutions,  and  by 
so  doing  astonishes  still  more  the  unsuspicious  Fran- 
cis, as  well  as  his  niece  Mary  whose  wondering  eyes 
are  fixed  on  him. 

As  to  Coligni  and  the  other  Protestants,  they 
fall  blindfolded  into  the  snare  spread  for  them  by 
Catherine,  all  save  the  Prince  de  Cond£,  who,  crafty 
and  treacherous  himself,  is  more  suspicious  of  others. 
He  has  marked,  too,  the  Queen-mother's  words, 
"  some  near  the  throne,"  and  thinks  he  knows  to 
whom  they  are  applied.  However,  he  immediately 
rises  and  in  a  few  well-chosen  phrases  declares  him- 
self ready  to  defend  the  royal  cause  with  his  life. 
The  Admiral  next  speaks,  and  in  an  eloquent  har- 
angue he  unsuspectingly  dilates  on  his  own  views  of 
the  present  administration,  and  reproves  the  ambi- 
tion of  those  princes  who  usurp  the  government  of 
France.  "There  are  two  millions  of  Protestants  in 
the  kingdom,"  he  says,  "  who  look  to  the  heads  of 
their  own  faith  for  relief  from  the  tyranny  and 


84  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

injustice  under  which  they  have  long  languished. 
Two  millions,"  repeats  Coligni  in  a  grave,  sad  voice, 
looking  steadfastly  round  the  circle,  "  who  seek  to 
live  at  peace,  industrious,  tranquil,  loyal.  But  these 
two  millions  demand  that  they  shall  enjoy  equal 
privileges  with  the  least  of  his  Majesty's  Catholic  sub- 
jects. This  is  now  refused.  They  ask  to  be  neither 
suspected,  watched,  nor  wilfully  persecuted.  If  any 
conspiracy  exists,  such  as  is  known  to  her  Majesty 
the  Queen-mother — and  I  accept  her  statement  as 
true  with  the  deepest  sorrow — it  can  only  arise  from 
the  bitter  feeling  engendered  by  the  disgrace  of 
these  Calvinistic  subjects  of  this  realm  who  are 
uniformly  treated  as  aliens,  and  repulsed  with  cruel 
persistency  from  such  places  of  trust  and  honour  as 
their  services  have  entitled  them  to  enjoy.  Let 
these  heavy  grievances  be  removed,  let  his  Majesty 
reign  for  himself  alone  " — and  Coligni's  eye  rests  on 
the  Due  de  Guise  and  the  Queen-mother — "  with 
equal  favour  over  both  parties,  Catholic  as  well  as 
Protestant.  Let  the  conciliatory  edict  now  before 
the  council  be  made  public,  and  I,  Gaspard  de 
Coligni,  bind  myself  upon  my  plighted  word  as  a 
noble  and  upon  my  conscience  as  a  devout  Calvinist, 
that  the  House  of  Valois  will  for  ever  live  in  the 
hearts  of  our  people,  and  receive  from  them  as 
entire  a  devotion  as  ever  animated  subject  to  his 
sovereign." 

A  deep  silence  follows  Coligni's  address,  and  the 
Due  de  Guise  and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine  exchange 
glances  of  indignation. 

Francis  has  become  more  and  more  mystified. 
Timid  and  inexperienced,  he  fears  to  betray  his  ab- 


The  Council  of  State.  85 

solute  ignorance  of  state  affairs,  and  perhaps  incense 
his  mother  by  indiscreet  questions.  But  when  the 
parchment,  heavy  with  seals  of  state,  is  produced  and 
borne  to  him  by  the  Chancellor  for  signature,  he  can 
no  longer  conceal  his  astonishment  that  he  should  be 
called  on  to  sign  an  edict  giving  both  liberty  and 
protection  to  those  very  persons  whom  the  Queen- 
mother  and  his  uncles  had  represented  to  him  as  his 
mortal  enemies.  He  looks  so  long  and  earnestly  at 
Catherine,  that  she,  fearing  that  by  one  mistaken 
word  he  is  about  to  destroy  the  whole  fabric  of  her 
masterly  dissimulation,  rises  quickly  from  the  arm- 
chair in  which  she  sits,  and  advancing  quickly 
towards  him  with  a  commanding  look  and  imperi- 
ous gesture,  takes  the  pen  from  the  hand  of  the 
Chancellor  and  presents  it  to  him  herself. 

"  Sign,  my  son,"  says  she,  "  this  edict  which  has 
been  framed  by  the  unanimous  advice  of  your  coun- 
cil in  favour  of  your  loyal  subjects.  Fear  not  to 
sanction  this  royal  act  of  mercy.  Your  Majesty  is 
still  too  young  to  understand  the  far-seeing  wisdom 
of  the  act.  Take  it  on  my  word,  Sire,  take  it  now 
on  my  word.  You  will  understand  it  better  later." 

"  Truly,  madame,"  replies  the  King,  "  I  call  God 
to  witness  that  I  desire  the  good  of  all  my  subjects, 
Huguenot  and  Catholic."  So  saying  he  takes  the 
pen  and  signs  the  edict.  The  council  forthwith 
breaks  up,  and  with  what  wondering  curiosity  on 
the  part  of  the  King  and  Mary,  who  dare  ask  no 
questions,  cannot  be  told. 


86  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
CATHERINE'S  VENGEANCE. 

MEANWHILE  the  conspirators,  emboldened  by 
the  news  of  the  edict  of  Amboise,  carried  out 
their  purpose  exactly  as  the  Queen-mother  intended, 
with  perfect  confidence  and  little  concealment. 
Catherine's  object  was  to  draw  them  towards  Am- 
boise and  there  destroy  them.  Band  after  band,  in 
small  detachments  the  better  to  avoid  suspicion, 
rode  up  from  Nantes  where  they  lay,  to  concentrate 
in  force  on  the  Loire  and  within  Amboise  itself. 
When  sufficiently  strong  they  proposed  to  carry  off 
the  King  and  Queen  by  a  coup-de-main,  make  away 
with  the  Jesuitical  Guises,  banish  the  Queen-mother 
to  some  distant  fortress,  and  place  Conde  on  the 
throne  as  Regent. 

They  came  through  the  plains  of  Touraine,  halting 
beside  solitary  farms,  in  the  vineyards,  under  the 
willows  and  tufted  underwood  that  border  the  rivers, 
and  through  the  dark  forests  that  lie  on  the  hills 
behind  Amboise.  Band  after  band  reached  certain 
points,  halted  at  the  spots  indicated  to  them,  and  met 
other  detachments  with  whom  they  were  to  act ;  but 
not  one  of  them  was  heard  of  more. 

The  walls  of  the  castle  of  Amboise  bristled  with 
troops,  and  the  open  country  towards  Loches  was  full 
of  soldiers.  Trusty  guards  stationed  on  the  double 
bridge  across  the  Loire  were  instructed  by  the  Due 
de  Guise,  who  wielded  absolute  power  and  who  had 
now  gained  minute  knowledge  of  the  plot,  to  take  all 


Catherines  Vengeance.  87 

suspected  persons  prisoners,  or  if  needful,  slay  them 
as  they  stood.  Crowds  of  prisoners  poured  into 
Amboise,  tied  together  and  driven  like  cattle  to  the 
shambles.  Those  who  were  known  were  reserved  for 
a  further  purpose,  the  rest — the  herd — were  either 
hanged  or  drowned.  The  Loire  was  full  of  floating 
corpses. 

Conde,  wary  with  the  wariness  of  his  race,  ven- 
tured not  again  to  Amboise.  Coligni  and  his  brother 
knew  not  how  to  oppose  a  power  exercised  in  the 
royal  name,  but  Jean  Barri  de  la  Renaudie,  the  osten- 
sible leader  of  the  conspiracy  and  a  bold  adventurer, 
alarmed  at  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  party  after 
party  of  his  followers,  set  out  in  rash  haste  towards  Am- 
boise. He  too  was  watched  for  and  expected  among 
the  wooded  hills  of  the  forest  of  Chateau  Renaud. 

La  Renaudie  had  encamped  in  the  woods  towards 
morning  after  advancing  under  cover  of  the  night  from 
Niort.  Suddenly  his  detachment  was  approached  by 
two  or  three  horsemen,  who,  after  reconnoitring  for  a 
few  moments,  retreated.  These  were  evidently  the 
advance  guard  of  the  royal  forces.  La  Renaudie  im- 
mediately broke  up  his  camp  and  dashed  on  towards 
Amboise,  concealed  by  the  overhanging  trees  on  the 
banks  of  a  stream  which  flowed  through  a  wild  defile. 
In  a  hollow  of  the  river,  among  beds  of  stone  and 
sand,  he  was  fallen  upon  by  a  regiment  of  royal  troops 
who  had  tracked  and  finally  caught  him  as  in  a  trap. 
His  own  cousin  Pardilliac  commanded  the  attack,  he 
recognised  him  by  the  flag.  A  deadly  struggle  ensued, 
in  which  both  cousins  fell.  La  Renaudie's  corpse, 
carried  in  triumph  to  Amboise,  was  hung  in  chains 
over  the  bridge. 


88  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Then  Conde,  Coligni,  and  the  other  Calvinists 
came  fully  to  understand  what  the  edict  of  concilia- 
tion really  meant. 

The  Castle  of  Amboise  during  all  this  time  had 
been  strictly  guarded  ;  every  door  was  watched,  every 
gallery  was  full  of  troops  ;  the  garden  and  the  walled 
plateau,  within  which  stands  the  beautiful  little  votive 
chapel  erected  by  Anne  of  Brittany,  was  like  a  camp. 
Silence,  suspicion,  and  terror  were  on  every  face.  Al- 
though the  Queen-mother,  with  her  crafty  smiles  and 
unruffled  brow,  affected  entire  ignorance  and  exhorted 
"  la  petite  reinette,"  as  she  called  Mary,  to  hunt  in  the 
adjoining  forest,  and  to  assemble  the  Court  in  the  state 
rooms  with  the  usual  banquets  and  festivities,  Mary, 
pale  and  anxious,  remained  shut  up  with  Francis  in 
her  private  apartments. 

"  My  uncle,"  said  Francis  to  the  Due  de  Guise  whom 
he  met  leaving  the  Queen-mother's  retiring-room,  "  I 
must  know  what  all  these  precautions  mean.  Why  are 
so  many  troops  encamped  about  the  castle,  the  guards 
doubled,  and  the  gates  closed  ?  Why  do  you  avoid  me 
and  the  Queen  ?  Uncle,  I  insist  on  knowing  more." 

"  It  is  nothing,  Sire — nothing,"  faltered  the  Duke, 
who,  dissembler  as  he  was,  could  scarcely  conceal  the 
confusion  the  King's  questions  caused  him.  "A tri- 
fling conspiracy  has  been  discovered,  a  few  rebels 
have  been  caught,  your  Majesty's  leniency'has  been 
abused  by  some  false  Huguenots.  These  troops 
assembled  about  the  castle  are  your  Majesty's  trusty 
guards  brought  here  to  ensure  the  maintenance  of 
the  terms  of  the  edict." 

"  But,  uncle,  the  Queen  and  I  hear  the  clash  of 
arms  and  firing  on  the  bridges  as  against  an  enemy. 


Catherines  Vengeance.  89 

I  cannot  sleep,  so  great  is  the  tumult.  What  have  I 
done  that  my  people  should  mistrust  me  ?  Huguenots 
and  Catholics  are  alike  my  subjects.  Are  you  sure, 
uncle,  that  it  is  not  you  and  my  mother  that  they  hate  ? 
I  would  that  you  would  all  go  away  for  a  while  and 
let  me  rule  alone,  then  my  people  would  know  me." 

When  all  the  Huguenot  conspirators,  about  two 
thousand  in  number,  were  either  massacred  or  im- 
prisoned, Catherine  threw  off  the  mask.  She  called  to 
her  Francis  and  the  young  Queen.  "  My  children," 
said  she,  "  a  plot  has  been  discovered  by  which  the 
Prince  de  Conde  was  to  be  made  Regent.  You  and 
the  Queen  were  to  be  shut  up  for  life,  or  murdered 
perhaps.  Such  as  remain  unpunished  of  the  enemies 
of  the  House  of  Valois  are  about  to  be  executed  on 
the  southern  esplanade  of  the  castle.  You  are  too 
young  to  be  instructed  in  all  these  details,  but,  my 
son,  when  you  signed  that  edict,  I  told  you  I  would 
afterwards  explain  it — now  come  and  behold  the  rea- 
son. Mary,  my  rcinette,  do  not  turn  so  pale,  you 
will  need  to  learn  to  be  both  stern  and  brave  to  rule 
your  rough  subjects  the  Scotch." 

Catherine,  erect  and  calm,  led  the  way  to  the  state 
apartments  overlooking  on  either  side  the  garden,  ter- 
race, and  river.  Large  mullioned  windows  had  by  the 
command  of  Francis  I.  taken  the  place  of  the  narrow 
lights  of  the  older  fortress.  He  had  changed  the  es- 
planade and  southern  terraced  front  .within  the  walls 
and  the  balconied  windows  to  the  north  overlooking 
the  town,  into  that  union  of  manoir  and  chateau 
which  he  first  created. 

The  boy-King  and  Queen  followed  tremblingly  the 
steps  of  their  mother,  who  strode  on  in  front  with 


90  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

triumphant  alacrity.  Without,  on  the  pleasant  terrace 
bordered  by  walls  now  bristling  with  guns  and  alive 
with  guards  and  archers,  on  the  pinnacles  and  fretted 
roof  of  the  votive  chapel,  which  stands  to  the  right  in 
a  tuft  of  trees  inside  a  bastion,  the  sun  shone  brightly, 
but  the  blue  sky  and  the  laughing  face  of  nature 
seemed  but  to  mock  the  hideous  spectacle  in  front. 
Close  under  the  windows  of  the  central  gallery,  a 
scaffold  was  erected  covered  with  black,  on  which 
stood  an  executioner  masked,  clothed  in  a  red  robe. 
Long  lines  of  prisoners  packed  closely  together,  a 
dismal  crowd,  wan  and  emaciated  by  imprisonment 
in  the  loathsome  holes  of  the  mediaeval  castle,  stood 
by  hundreds  ranged  against  the  outer  walls  and  those 
of  the  chapel,  guarded  by  archers  and  musketeers ; 
as  if  such  despairing  wretches,  about  to  be  butchered 
like  cattle  in  the  shambles,  needed  guarding !  The 
windows  of  the  royal  gallery  were  wide  open, 
flags  streamed  from  the  architraves,  and  a  loggia,  or 
covered  balcony,  had  been  prepared,  hung  with 
crimson  velvet,  with  seats  for  the  royal  princes. 

Within  the  gallery  the  whole  Court  stood  ranged 
against  the  sculptured  walls.  Catherine  entered  first. 
With  an  imperious  gesture  she  signed  to  Mary,  who 
clung,  white  as  death,  to  her  husband,  to  take  her 
place  under  a  royal  canopy  placed  in  the  centre  of 
the  window.  Francis  she  drew  into  a  chair  beside 
herself,  the  Chancellor,  the  Due  de  Guise,  his  brother 
the  Cardinal,  and  the  Due  de  Nemours  seated  them- 
selves near.  Their  appearance  was  the  signal  to 
begin  the  slaughter.  Prisoner  after  prisoner  was 
dragged  up  beneath  the  loggia  to  the  scaffold  and 
hastily  despatched.  Cries  of  agony  were  drowned 


Catherines  Vengeance.  91 

in  the  screeching  of  fifes  and  the  loud  braying  of 
trumpets.  The  mutilated  bodies  were  flung  on  one 
side. to  be  cast  into  the  river,  the  heads  borne  away 
to  be  placed  upon  the  bridge.  Blood  ran  in  streams 
and  scented  the  fresh  spring  breezes.  The  execu- 
tioner wearily  rested  from  his  labour,  and  another 
masked  figure,  dressed  like  himself,  in  red  from  head 
to  foot,  took  his  place. 

Spellbound  and  speechless  sat  the  young  Queen. 
A  look  of  horror  was  on  her  face.  She  had  clutched 
the  hand  of  Francis  as  she  sat  down,  and  ere  a  few 
minutes  had  passed,  she  had  fainted. 

Catherine,  who,  wholly  unmoved,  was  contem- 
plating the  death  of  her  enemies  the  Huguenots, 
turned  with  a  terrible  frown  towards  her  son,  handing 
him  some  strong  essence  with  which  to  revive  Mary. 
As  her  senses  returned,  even  the  basilisk  eyes  of  her 
dreaded  mother-in-law  could  not  restrain  her.  One 
glance  at  the  awful  spectacle  gave  her  courage ;  she 
gave  a  wild  scream,  and  rushing  forward,  flung  her- 
self passionately  at  the  feet  of  her  uncle,  Francis  of 
Guise. 

"  Uncle,  dear  uncle,  stay  this  fearful  massacre. 
Speak  to  the  Queen,  or  I  shall  die.  Oh !  why  was  I 
brought  here  to  behold  such  a  sight?  " 

"  My  niece,"  answered  the  Duke  solemnly,  raising 
her  from  the  ground,  and  tenderly  kissing  her  on  the 
cheek,  "  have  courage ;  these  are  but  a  few  pestilent 
heretics  who  would  have  dethroned  you  and  your 
husband,  the  King,  and  set  up  a  false  religion.  By 
their  destruction  we  are  doing  good  service  to  God 
and  to  the  blessed  Virgin.  Such  vermin  deserve 
no  pity.  You  ought  to  rejoice  in  their  destruction." 


92  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"Alas!  my  mother,"  said  Francis,  also  rising,  "I 
too  am  overcome  at  this  horrible  sight,  I  also  would 
crave  your  highness's  permission  to  retire  ;  the  blood 
of  my  subjects,  even  of  my  enemies,  is  horrible  to 
see.  Let  us  go  !  " 

"  My  son,  I  command  you  to  stay  ! "  broke  in 
Catherine,  furious  with  passion,  and  imperiously 
raising  her  hand  to  stay  him.  "  Due  de  Guise,  sup- 
port your  niece,  the  Queen  of  France.  Teach  her 
the  duty  of  a  sovereign." 

Again  Francis,  intimidated  by  his  mother's 
violence,  reseated  himself  along  with  the  unhappy 
Mary,  motionless  beside  him.  Again  the  steel  of 
the  axe  flashed  in  the  sunshine,  and  horrible  con- 
tortions writhed  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  It  was  too 
much.  Mary,  young,  tender,  compassionate — afraid 
to  plead  for  mercy  as  though  committing  a  crime, 
again  fainted,  and  was  again  recovered.  The  Queen- 
mother,  to  whom  the  savage  scene  was  a  spectacle 
of  rapture,  again  commanded  her  to  be  reseated ; 
but  Francis,  now  fully  aroused  by  the  sufferings  of 
his  wife,  interposed. 

"  My  mother,  I  can  no  longer  permit  your  Majesty 
to  force  the  Queen  to  be  present.  You  are  perilling 
her  health.  Govern  my  kingdom  and  slay  my 
subjects,  but  let  me  judge  what  is  seemly  for  my 
wife." 

So,  bearing  her  in  his  arms,  with  the  assistance  of 
her  ladies,  Francis  withdrew. 

When  the  butchery  was  over,  and  the  headless 
bodies  were  floating  in  the  river  or  strung  up  on  the 
branches  of  the  trees  or  piled  in  heaps  about  the 
castle,  Catherine  retired.  She  commanded  that  the 


Catherine 's  Vengeance.  93 

remains  of  the  chief  conspirators  should  be  hung  in 
chains  from  the  iron  balustrades  of  the  stone  balcony 
which  protects  the  windows  of  the  royal  gallery  and 
which  still  remains  intact,  on  the  north  front  of  the 
castle,  towards  the  river.  The  remainder  were  to 
be  thrown  into  the  Loire.  This  stone  balcony 
borders  now,  as  then,  the  whole  length  of  the 
state  apartments  towards  the  river.  A  fall  of  some 
hundred  feet  down  a  sheer  mass  of  grey  rock  on 
which  the  castle  stands  makes  the  head  dizzy. 
Over  this  precipice  the  headless  bodies  dangled, 
swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  March  wind,  a  hideous  and 
revolting  sight.  No  one  could  pass  through  any  of 
the  apartments  of  the  castle  without  beholding  it. 
But  despised  humanity  in  the  shape  of  the 
murdered  Huguenots  asserted  its  claim  on  the 
attention  of  the  Court,  and  the  stench  of  these 
bodies  hung  to  the  balcony,  and  of  those  strung  up 
on  the  trees,  and  the  rotting  corpses  that  dammed 
up  the  river,  soon  became  so  overwhelming, 
that  even  Catherine  herself  was  forced  to  retreat, 
and  accompany  her  son  and  the  young  Queen  to 
Chenonceau.  The  shock  and  excitement  were,  how- 
ever, too  much  for  the  sickly  Francis.  Rapidly  he 
pined  and  died  ;  no  physician  was  found  who  could 
cure  a  nameless  malady. 

Mary  Stuart,  a  widow  at  eighteen,  passionate  and 
romantic,  clung  fondly  to  that  "  pleasant  land " 
where  she  had  spent  such  happy  days  with  the 
gracious  Francis.  She  had  been  created  Duchesse 
de  Touraine  at  her  marriage,  and  craved  earnestly  to 
be  allowed  to  enjoy  that  apanage  rather  than  be 
banished  to  reign  in  a  barren  land,  which  she  dreaded 


94  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

like  a  living  tomb.  But  her  ambitious  uncles,  the 
Due  de  Guise  and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  who 
were  to  her  as  parents,  obstinately  insisted  on  her 
departure  for  Scotland.  So  she  sailed  from  Calais ; 
and,  from  the  deck  of  the  ship  that  bore  her  across 
the  seas,  as  the  shores  of  France — which  she  was 
never  more  to  see — gradually  faded  from  her  view, 
she  sang  to  her  lute  that  plaintive  song,  so  identified 
with  her  memory  : — 

"  Adieu,  oh  plaisant  pays  ! 
Adieu  !  oh  ma  patrie, 

La  plus  cherie,  qui  a  nourri 
Ma  Belle  enfance, — Adieu  !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  ASTROLOGER'S  CHAMBER. 

WHEREVER  Catherine  chose  to  reside,  either 
in  Paris  or  in  Touraine,  an  observatory  for  the 
stars  was  always  at  hand,  and  Cosmo  Ruggiero,  who 
had  attended  her  from  Italy,  never  left  her.  Cosmo 
was  the  Queen's  familiar  demon ;  he  was  both  astrolo- 
ger, alchemist,  and  philosopher.  He  fed  the  glowing 
furnaces  with  gold  and  silver,  sometimes  with  dead 
men's  bones ;  concocted  essences,  powders,  and  per- 
fumes ;  drew  horoscopes,  and  modelled  wax  figures 
in  the  likeness  of  those  who  had  incurred  the 
Queen's  enmity.  These  were  supposed  to  suffer 
pangs  from  each  stab  inflicted  on  their  images,  and 
to  waste  away  as  their  wax  similitudes  melted  in  the 
flames.  Cosmo  was  also  purveyor  of  poisons  to  her 


The  Astrologer  s  Chamber.  95 

Majesty,  and  dealt  largely  in  herbs  and  roots  fatal 
to  life.  His  apartments  and  the  observatory  were 
always  near  those  of  the  Queen  and  connected  with 
them  by  a  secret  stair. 

We  are  at  the  Tuileries.*  It  stands  on  a  plot  of 
ground  outside  Paris — where  tiles  were  baked  and 
rubbish  shot — given  by  Francis  I.  to  his  mother, 
Louise  de  Savoie.  Charles  IX.,  who  has  succeeded 
his  brother — Francis  II. — inhabits  the  Louvre,  now 
entirely  rebuilt  by  Francis  I.  The  Queen-mother 
desired  to  live  alone.  She  therefore  commanded 
Philippe  de  Lorme  to  erect  a  new  palace  for  her  use, 
consisting  of  a  central  pavilion,  with  ample  wings. 
Catherine  is  now  middle-aged  ;  her  complexion  is 
darker,  the  expression  of  her  face  sterner  and  more 
impassive.  She  seldom  relaxes  into  a  smile  except 
to  deceive  an  enemy.  In  her  own  person  she  dis- 
likes and  despises  the  luxury  of  dress,  and  princi- 
pally wears  black  since  the  death  of  her  husband. 
But  on  fitting  occasions  of  state  she,  too,  robes  her- 
self in  royal  apparel.  She  stands  before  us  in  a  long 
black  dress,  tightly  fitting  her  shape.  She  has  grown 
much  stouter  though  she  is  still  upright  and  majestic. 
Her  active  habits  and  her  extraordinary  capacity  for 
mental  labour  are  the  same.  A  stiff  ruff  is  round 
her  neck  and  a  black  coif  upon  her  head.  Jewels 
she  rarely  uses.  Her  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Tuileries, 
hung  with  sombre  tapestry  or  panelled  with  dark 
wood,  are  studiously  plain.  She  loves  artists  and 
the  arts,  but  pictures  and  statues  are  not  appropriate 
to  the  state  business  she  habitually  transacts.  There 
is  a  certain  consistent  grandeur  in  her  plain,  un- 
*  See  Note  TO. 


g6  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

adorned  entourage ;  a  sense  of  subdued  power — 
hidden  yet  apparent — that  makes  those  who  approach 
her  tremble.  Her  second  son  Charles,  now  King  of 
France,  is  wholly  under  her  influence.  He  was  only 
ten  years  old  when  he  ascended  the  throne  at  the 
death  of  his  brother  Francis,  and  his  mother  has 
carefully  stamped  out  every  good  quality  in  his 
naturally  frank  and  manly  nature.  Now  he  is  rough 
and  cruel,  loves  the  sight  of  blood,  and  has  become 
a  perfect  Nimrod.  He  blows  the  horn  with  such 
violence,  so  often  and  so  loud,  that  he  has  injured 
his  lungs.  Charles  knows  much  more  about  the 
bears,  wolves,  deer,  and  wild  boars  of  France,  than 
of  his  Christian  subjects. 

The  Princess  Marguerite  is  now  grown  into  a 
woman,  "  a  noble  mind  in  a  most  lovely  person," 
says  the  flattering  Brantome.  Her  mother  encour- 
ages Marguerite's  taste  for  intrigue,  and  throws  her 
into  the  company  of  women,  such  as  Madame  de 
Sauve,  the  court  Ninon  de  1'Enclos  of  that  day. 
Catherine  contemplates  her  beauty,  not  with  the  pro- 
found affection  of  a  mother,  but  as  a  useful  bait  to 
entrap  those  whom  she  desires  to  gain.  When  she 
was  young  herself  the  Queen  never  allowed  any 
tender  passion  to  stand  in  her  way,  but  ruthlessly 
sacrificed  all  who  were  either  useless  or  trouble- 
some. 

When  the  palace  is  quiet,  and  the  sighing  of  the 
winter  wind  without,  as  it  sweeps  along  the  quays 
and  ruffles  the  surface  of  the  river,  is  only  broken  by 
the  challenge  of  the  sentinels  on  the  bastion  border- 
ing the  Seine,  Catherine  rises  from  her  chair.  She 
passes  over  her  black  dress  a  long  white  mantle,  puts 


The  Astrologer 's  Chamber.  97 

her  feet  into  silken  slippers,  lights  a  scented  bougie, 
takes  from  her  girdle  a  golden  key — which  is  hid 
there  along  with  a  poisoned  dagger  in  case  of  need 
— draws  aside  the  tapestry,  unlocks  a  hidden  door, 
and  mounts  a  secret  stair.  Cosmo  Ruggiero  is  seated 
on  a  folding  stool  in  a  small  laboratory  under  the 
roof.  He  is  reading  an  ancient  manuscript.  A  lamp 
illuminates  the  page,  and  he  is,  or  affects  to  be,  so 
profoundly  absorbed  that  he  does  not  hear  his 
terrible  mistress  enter.  She  glides  like  a  ghost 
beside  him  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
rouses  him.  Ruggiero  rises  hastily  and  salutes  her. 
Catherine  draws  a  stool  beside  him,  seats  herself, 
and  signs  him  to  do  so  also. 

"Well,  Cosmo!  always  studying;  always  at  work 
in  my  service,"  says  she,  in  a  low  metallic  voice. 

"  Yes,  madame,  I  have  no  other  pleasure  than  in 
your  Majesty's  service." 

"Yes,  yes!  you  serve  the  Queen  for  love,  and 
science  out  of  interest — I  understand.  Disinterested- 
ness is  the  custom  of  our  country,  my  friend." 

"  Your  Majesty  mistakes  ;  I  serve  her  as  a  loyal 
servant  and  countryman  should." 

"  La  !  la  !  "  says  Catherine,  "  we  know  each  other, 
Cosmo, — no  professions.  Is  the  poison  ready  I 
ordered  of  you,  the  subtle  powder  to  sprinkle  on 
gloves  or  flowers?  It  is  possible  I  may  want  it 
shortly." 

Ruggiero  rises  and  hands  a  small  sealed  packet, 
enclosed  in  satin,  to  the  Queen,  who  places  it  in  her 
bosom. 

"  Madame,"  he  says,  "  beware  !  this  poison  is  most 
powerful." 


98  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  those  for  whom  it  is 
destined,"  replied  Catherine  ;  and  a  cruel  smile  lights 
up  her  face  for  a  moment.  "  It  will  serve  me  the 
quicker.  But  to  business,  Cosmo.  What  say  the 
stars?  Have  you  drawn  the  horoscopes  ?  " 

"  Here,  madame,  are  the  horoscopes "  ;  and  he 
draws  from  his  belt  a  bundle  of  papers.  "  Here  are 
the  celestial  signs  within  the  House  of  Life  of  all  the 
royal  persons  concerned,  traced  by  the  magic  pencil 
from  the  dates  you  furnished  me." 

Catherine  glances  at  the  papers.  "  Explain  to  me 
their  import,"  says  she,  looking  at  him  with  grave 
attention. 

"Your  present  design,  madame,  to  marry  Madame 
Marguerite  to  the  King  of  Navarre  appears  favour- 
able to  the  interests  of  France.  A  cloud  now  rests 
upon  the  usually  brilliant  star  of  the  King  of  Navarre, 
but  another  night,  madame,  perhaps " 

"  This  is  all  very  vague,  Ruggiero,  I  want  an  ab- 
solute prediction,"  says  Catherine,  fixing  her  black 
eyes  full  upon  the  soothsayer.  "  Among  all  these 
illustrious  personages  is  there  not  one  whose  horo- 
scope is  clear  and  defined  ?  " 

"Assuredly,  madame;  will  your  Majesty  deign  to 
interrogate  me  as  to  the  future?  I  will  unfold  the 
purposes  of  the  stars  as  I  have  read  them." 

"  You  have  spoken  of  the  Princess.  Does  she  love 
the  young  Due  Henri  de  Guise?" 

"  Madame,  her  highness  affects  the  Duke  ;  but  she 
is  unstable  in  her  affections." 

"  The  Queen  of  Navarre — will  she  still  forward  this 
marriage  ?  " 

"  It  will  cause  her  death." 


The  Astrologer  s  Chamber.  99 

"How?" 

"  By  poison." 

"Where?" 

"At  Paris." 

"  That  is  well,"  answers  the  Queen,  and  deep 
thought  darkens  her  swarthy  face.  "  Her  son,  the 
King  of  Navarre — what  of  him  ?  " 

"  He,  madame,  is  safe  for  awhile,  though  he  will 
shortly  be  exposed  to  extreme  peril." 

"  But  is  he  destined  to  die  violently  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  ;  but  long  years  hence.  His  hair  will  be 
gray  before  the  poniard  I  see  hovering  over  him 
strikes.  But,  as  I  have  said  to-night,  there  is  a  cloud 
upon  his  star.  Long  he  will  certainly  escape  steel, 
fire,  illness,  or  accident ;  he  will  bear  a  charmed  life. 
Madame,  the  King  of  Navarre  will  be  a  proper  hus- 
band for  Madame  Marguerite." 

"  But  how  of  that  bold  man,  the  Due  de  Guise, 
who  dares  without  my  leave  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of 
the  Princess?"  asked  Catherine. 

"  Henri  de  Guise,  madame,  will  die  a  violent  death, 
as  will  his  father  and  Coligni.  The  Admiral  will  be 
stabbed  in  his  own  house.  This  is  certain." 

The  Queen  smiles,  and  for  a  time  is  silent. 

"  Tell  me,"  at  length  she  almost  whispers,  "  have 
you  discovered  anything  more  about  myself  and  my 
sons  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  tremble  to  reply,"  replies  Ruggiero, 
hesitating. 

"  Speak,  I  command  you,  Cosmo." 

Catherine  rises,  and  lays  her  hand  heavily  upon 
his  arm.  Her  e)>es  meet  his. 

"  If  I  must  reveal  the  future  of  your  Majesty  and 


ioo  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

the  royal  princes,  well,  let  it  be  done.  Your  Majesty 
can  but  kill  me.  I  fear  not  death." 

"  Fool,  your  life  is  safe  !  " 

"  You,  madame,  will  live ;  but  the  Princes,  your 
sons —  "  and  he  stops  and  again  hesitates. 

"  Speak  !  "  hisses  Catherine  between  her  set  teeth. 
"  Speak,  or,  pardieu  !  I  will  force  you,"  and  she  raises 
her  hand  aloft,  as  if  to  strike  him. 

"  Madame,"  replies  Ruggiero,  quite  unmoved  by 
her  violence,  rising  from  his  stool,  and  moving  tow- 
ards the  wall,  "  you  yourself  shall  see  the  future  that 
awaits  them."  He-withdraws  a  black  curtain  cover- 
ing an  arched  recess  and  revealed  a  magic  mirror. 
"  The  kings  your  sons,  madame,  shall  pass  before  you. 
Each  shall  reign  as  many  years  as  he  makes  the  cir- 
cuit of  that  dark  chamber  you  see  reflected  on  the 
polished  steel.  There  is  your  eldest  son,  Francis. 
See  how  feebly  he  moves,  how  pale  he  looks.  He 
never  lived  to  be  a  man.  Twice  he  slowly  passes 
round,  and  he  is  gone.  The  next  is  Charles,  ninth  of 
that  name.  Thirteen  times  he  turns  around,  and  as 
he  moves  a  mist  of  blood  gathers  about  him.  Look, 
it  thickens — it  hides  him.  He  shall  reign  thirteen 
years,  and  die  a  bloody  death,  having  caused  much 
blood  to  flow.  Here  is  Henri,  Due  d'Anjou,  who 
shall  succeed  him.  A  few  circuits,  and  then  behold 
— a  muffled  figure — a  monk,  springs  on  him  from 
behind.  He  falls  and  vanishes." 

There  is  a  pause. 

"  What !  Cosmo,"  whispers  Catherine,  who  stood 
supporting  herself  on  the  back  of  a  high  chair  opposite 
the  magic  mirror.  "  Francis,  Charles,  Henry  are  gone, 
but  do  they  leave  no  child  ?  " 


At  Chenonceau.  101 

"  None,  madame." 

"Where,  then,  is  D'Alen^on,  my  youngest  boy? 
Let  me  see  him." 

"  Madame,"  falters  Ruggiero,  "  his  highness  is  not 
destined  to  reign.  The  successor  of  your  sons  is  be- 
fore you  "  ;  and  on  the  magic  glass  rises  up,  clear  and 
distinct,  the  image  of  the  King  of  Navarre.  With 
strong,  firm  steps  he  circles  the  mystic  chamber  of 
life  twenty  times.  As  he  passes  on  the  twenty-first 
round,  a  mist  gathers  round  him ;  he  falls  and 
vanishes. 

At  the  sight  of  Henry  of  Navarre,  the  Queen's 
composure  utterly  forsakes  her.  She  trembles  from 
head  to  foot  and  sinks  into  a  chair.  A  sombre  fire 
shoots  from  her  eyes. 

"  I  will  take  care  that  shall  never  be  !  "  gasps  she, 
unable  to  speak  with  rage. 

After  a  few  moments  she  rose,  took  up  her  light, 
and  without  one  other  word  descended  as  she  had 
come. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AT   CHENONCEAU. 

THE  Chateau  of  Chenonceau,  so  greatly  coveted 
by  Catherine  de'  Medici  in  her  youth,  still  re- 
mains to  us.  It  lies  in  a  rural  district  of  the  Touraine, 
far  from  cities  and  the  traffic  of  great  thoroughfares. 
Spared,  from  its  isolated  position,  by  the  First  Revo- 
lution, this  monument  of  the  Renaissance,  half  palace 
half  chateau,  is  as  beautiful  as  ever — a  picturesque 


IO2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

mass  of  pointed  turrets,  glistening  spires,  perpendicu- 
lar roofs,  lofty  pavilions,  and  pillared  arches.  It  is 
partly  built  over  the  river  Cher,  at  once  its  defence 
and  its  attraction. 

Henry  II.,  as  also  his  father,  Francis,  who  specially 
loved  this  sunny  plaisance  and  often  visited  it  in 
company  with  his  daughter-in-law,  Catherine,  and  his 
mistress,  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes,  had  both  lavished 
unknown  sums  on  its  embellishment. 

Chenonceau  is  approached  by  a  drawbridge  over 
a  moat  fed  by  the  river.  On  the  southern  side  a 
stately  bridge  of  five  arches  has  been  added  by  Diane 
de  Poitiers  in  order  to  reach  the  opposite  bank,  where 
the  high  roofs  and  pointed  turrets  of  the  main  build- 
ing are  seen  to  great  advantage,  rising  out  of  scattered 
woods  of  oak  and  ash,  which  are  divided  into  leafy 
avenues  leading  into  fair  water-meadows  beside  the 
Cher.  By  Catherine's  command  this  bridge  has  been 
recently  covered  and  now  forms  a  spacious  wing  of 
two  stories,  the  first  floor  fitted  as  a  banqueting 
hall,  the  walls  broken  by  four  embayed  windows, 
opening  on  either  side  and  looking  up  and  down 
the  stream. 

A  fresh-breathing  air  comes  from  the  river  and 
the  forest,  a  scent  of  moss  and  flowers  extremely 
delicious.  The  cooing  of  the  cushat  doves,  the  cry  of 
the  cuckoo,  the  flutter  of  the  breeze  among  the  trees, 
and  the  hum  of  insects  dancing  in  the  sunbeams  are 
the  voices  of  this  sylvan  solitude.  The  blue  sky 
blends  into  the  green  woods,  and  the  white  clouds, 
sailing  over  the  tree-tops,  make  the  shadows  come  and 
go  among  the  arches  of  the  bridge  and  the  turrets  of 
the  chateau. 


At  C/ienonceau.  103 

A  sudden  flourish  of  trumpets  breaks  the  silence. 
It  is  Catherine,  in  the  early  summer,  coming,  like 
Jezebel,  to  possess  herself  of  her  fair  domain.  She 
is  habited  in  black  and  wears  a  velvet  toque  with  an 
ostrich  plume.  A  perfect  horsewoman,  she  rides 
with  a  stately  grace  down  the  broad  avenue  leading 
from  the  high  road,  followed  by  her  maids  of  honour 
— a  bevy  of  some  forty  beauties,  the  escadron  volant 
de  la  reinc,  who  serve  her  political  intrigues  by  fasci- 
nating alike  Huguenots  and  Catholics. 

To  the  right  of  the  Queen-mother  rides  Madame 
Marguerite,  her  daughter — by-and-by  to  become  in- 
famous as  Queen  of  Navarre,  wife  of  Henry  IV. — 
now  a  laughter-loving  girl,  who  makes  her  brown 
jennet  prance,  out  of  pure  high  spirits.  She  is  tall, 
like  all  the  Valois,  and  finely  formed.  Her  skin  is 
very  fair  and  her  eyes  full  of  expression ;  but 
there  is  a  hard  look  on  her  delicately-featured  face 
that  belies  her  attractive  appearance. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  Queen-mother  is  her  son, 
the  young  King,  Charles  IX.  He  has  a  weak  though 
most  engaging  countenance.  Naturally  brave  and 
witty  and  extremely  frank  and  free,  the  artifices  of  his 
mother's  corrupt  Court  have  made  him  what  he  now 
is — cruel,  violent,  and  suspicious.  Catherine  has  con- 
vinced him  that  he  is  deceived  by  all  the  world  except 
herself,  and  leads  him  at  her  will.  He  is  to  marry 
shortly  the  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian. 
Beside  him  is  the  vicious  and  elegant  Due  d'Anjou, 
his  next  brother,  of  whom  Charles  is  extremely  jealous. 
Already  Henry  has  been  victor  at  Jarnac,  and  almost 
rivals  Henry  of  Navarre  in  the  number  of  battles  he 
fights.  He  is  to  be  elected  King  of  Poland  during 


IO4  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

his  brother's  life.  Henry  is  handsomer  than  Charles, 
but  baby-faced  and  effeminate.  He  wears  rouge,  and 
is  as  gay  as  a  woman  in  his  attire.  Catherine's 
youngest  son,  D'Alen9on,  long-nosed,  ill-favoured,  and 
sullen,  rides  beside  his  sister. 

Behind  the  royal  Princess,  is  Francis,  Due  de 
Guise,  a  man,  as  we  have  seen,  of  indomitable  will 
and  unflinching  purpose  ;  fanatical  in  his  devotion 
to  the  Catholic  Church,  and  of  unbounded  ambition. 
He  secretly  cherishes  the  settled  purpose  of  his 
house, — destruction  to  the  race  of  Valois.  Ere 
long  he  will  be  assassinated  at  Orleans,  by  Poltrot, 
a  Huguenot,  a  creature  of  Coligni,  who  firmly  be- 
lieves he  will  ensure  his  salvation  by  this  crime. 
Such  is  Christianity  in  the  sixteenth  century  !  There 
are  also  two  cardinals  mounted  on  mules.  Lor- 
raine, a  true  Guise,  most  haughty  and  unscrupulous 
of  politicians  and  of  churchmen  ;  and  D'Este,  newly 
arrived  from  Ferrara,  insinuating,  treacherous,  and 
artistic.  He  has  brought  in  his  train  from  Italy 
the  great  poet  Tasso,  who  follows  his  patron,  and 
wears  a  garbadine  and  cap  of  dark  satin.  Tasso 
looks  sad  and  careworn,  spite  of  the  high  favour 
shown  him  by  his  countrywoman,  the  Queen- 
mother.  Ronsard,  the  court  poet,  is  beside  Tasso, 
and  Chatelard,  who,  madly  enamoured  of  the 
widowed  Queen,  Mary  Stuart,  is  about  to  follow 
her  to  Scotland,  and  to  die  of  his  presumptuous  love 
ere  long  at  Holyrood. 

As  this  brilliant  procession  passes  down  the  broad 
avenue  through  pleasant  lawns  forming  part  of  the 
park,  at  a  fast  trot,  a  rider  is  seen  mounted  on  a 
powerful  black  horse,  who  neither  entirely  conceals 


CHARLES   IX. 


At  Chenonceau.  105 

himself  nor  attempts  to  join  the  Court.  As  he 
passes  in  and  out  among  the  underwood  skirting  the 
adjoining  forest,  many  eyes  are  bent  upon  him.  The 
Queen-mother  specially,  turns  in  her  saddle  the 
better  to  observe  him,  and  then  questions  her  sons  as 
to  whether  they  recognise  this  solitary  cavalier,  whose 
face  and  figure  are  completely  hidden  by  a  broad 
"Spanish  hat  and  heavy  riding-cloak. 

At  the  moment  when  the  Queen-mother  has  turned 
her  head  to  make  these  inquiries  and  is  speaking 
earnestly  to  Francis  of  Guise,  whom  she  has  sum- 
moned to  her  side,  the  unknown  rider  crosses  the 
path  of  the  Princess  Marguerite  (who  in  frolicsome 
mood  is  making  her  horse  leap  over  some  ditches  in 
the  grass),  and  throws  a  rose  before  her.  Marguerite 
looks  up  with  a  gleam  of  delight,  their  eyes  meet 
for  an  instant ;  she  raises  her  hand,  kisses  it,  and 
waves  it  towards  him.  The  stranger  bows  to  the 
saddle-bow,  bounds  into  the  thicket,  and  is  seen  no 
more.  The  royal  party  cross  the  drawbridge  through 
two  lines  of  attendants,  picquers,  retainers,  pages,  and 
running  footmen,  and  dismount  at  the  arched  entrance 
from  which  a  long  stone  passage  leads  to  the  great 
gallery,  the  staircase,  and  the  various  apartments. 

Leaving  the  young  King  and  the  Princes,  his 
brothers,  to  the  care  of  the  chamberlains  who  conduct 
them  to  their  various  apartments,  the  Queen-mother 
turns  to  the  left,  followed  by  the  Princess,  who  is 
somewhat  alarmed  lest  her  mother  should  have 
observed  her  recognition  of  the  disguised  cavalier. 
They  pass  through  the  guard-room — a  lofty  chamber, 
with  raftered  ceilings  and  walls  hung  with  tapestry, 
on  which  cuirasses,  swords,  lances,  casques,  shields, 


io6  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

and  banners  are  suspended,  fashioned  into  various 
devices. 

Beyond  is  a  saloon,  and  through  a  narrow  door  in 
a  corner  is  a  small  writing-closet  within  a  turret. 
Catherine,  who  knows  the  chateau  well,  has  chosen 
this  suite  of  rooms  apart  from  the  rest.  She  enters 
the  closet  alone,  closes  the  door,  seats  herself  beside 
the  casement,  and  gazes  at  the  broad  river  flowing 
beneath.  Her  eyes  follow  the  current  onwards  to 
where  the  stream,  by  a  graceful  bend,  loses  itself 
among  copses  of  willow  and  alder.  She  smiles  a 
smile  of  triumph.  All  is  now  her  own.  Then  she 
summons  her  chamberlain,  and  commands  a  masque 
on  the  river  for  the  evening,  to  celebrate  her  arrival. 
None  shall  say  that  she,  a  Medici,  neglects  the 
splendid  pageantry  of  courts.  Besides,  the  hunting 
parties,  banquets,  and  masques  are  too  precious  as 
political  opportunities  to  be  disregarded. 

Having  dismissed  her  chamberlain,  who  with  his 
white  wand  of  office  bows  low  before  her,  she  calls 
for  writing  materials,  bidding  the  Princess  and  a 
single  lady-in-waiting,  Charlotte  de  Presney,  her 
favourite  attendant,  remain  without  in  the  saloon. 

This  is  a  large  apartment,  used  by  Catherine  as  a 
sleeping-room,  with  a  high  vaulted  ceiling  of  dark 
oak,  heavily  carved,  the  walls  panelled  with  rare 
marbles,  brought  by  the  Queen's  command  from 
Italy.  Busts  on  sculptured  pedestals,  ponderous 
chairs,  carved  cabinets  and  inlaid  tables,  stand 
around.  In  one  corner  there  is  a  bedstead  of 
walnut-wood  with  heavy  hangings  of  purple  velvet 
which  are  gathered  into  a  diadem  with  the  em- 
bossed initials  "  C.  M.,"  and  an  antique  silver  toilet- 


At  Chenonceau.  107 

table,  with  a  mirror  in  Venetian  glass  set  in  a 
shroud  of  lace.  The  polished  floor  has  no  carpet, 
and  there  is  not  a  chair  that  can  be  moved 
without  an  effort.  A  window,  looking  south  to- 
wards the  river  and  the  woods,  is  open.  The  sum- 
mer breezes  fill  the  room  with  fragrance.  Under  a 
ponderous  mantelpiece  of  coloured  marbles  Mar- 
guerite seats  herself  on  a  narrow  settee.  Her  large, 
sparkling  eyes  and  animated  face,  her  comely  shape, 
and  easy  though  stately  bearing,  invite,  yet  repel, 
approach.  She  still  wears  her  riding-dress  of  em- 
erald velvet  laced  with  gold,  and  a  plumed  cap  lies 
beside  her.  Her  luxuriant  hair,  escaped  from  a 
golden  net,  covers  her  shoulders.  She  is  a  perfect 
picture  of  youth  and  beauty,  and  as  fresh  as  her 
namesake,  the  daisy. 

Charlotte  de  Presney,  at  least  ten  years  older 
than  the  Princess,  is  an  acknowledged  belle.  Her 
features  are  regular,  her  complexion -brilliant,  and 
her  face  full  of  intelligence  ;  but  there  is  a  cunning 
expression  about  her  dimpling  mouth  that  greatly 
mars  her  beauty. 

"  Have  you  nothing  for  me,  Charlotte  ?  "  whispers 
the  Princess,  stretching  out  her  little  hand  glistening 
with  precious  stones.  "  I  know  you  have.  Give  it  me. 
His  eyes  told  me  so  when  he  passed  me  in  the  avenue." 

"Your  highness  must  not  ask  me.  Suppose  her 
Majesty  opens  that  door  and  sees,  me  in  the  act  of 
giving  you  a  letter  ?  " 

"  Oh !  mccliante,  why  do  you  plague  me  ?  I 
know  you  have  something  hidden  ;  give  it  me,  or 
I  will  search  you,"  and  she  jumps  up  and  casts  her 
soft  arms  round  the  lady-in-waiting. 


io8  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Charlotte  disengages  herself  gently,  and  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  low  door  leading  into  the  Queen's 
closet  sighs  deeply,  and  takes  a  letter  from  her 
bosom,  bound  with  blue  silk,  and  sealed  with  the 
arms  of  Guise. 

"Ah!  my  colours!  Is  he  not  charming,  my 
lover?"  mutters  Marguerite,  as  her  eager  eyes  de- 
vour the  lines.  "  He  says  he  has  followed  us,  dis- 
guised, from  Tours ;  not  even  his  father  knows  he 
has  come,  but  believes  him  to  be  in  Paris,  in  case  he 
should  be  questioned  by  the  Queen-mother, — Char- 
lotte, do  you  think  her  Majesty  recognised  him  in 
the  avenue?  He  was  admirably  disguised." 

"Your  highness  knows  that  nothing  escapes  the 
Queen's  eye.  The  sudden  appearance  of  a  stranger 
in  this  lonely  spot  must  have  created  observation." 

"Ah!  is  he  not  adorable,  Charlotte,  to  come  like 
a  real  knight-errant  to  gaze  at  his  lady-love?  How 
grand  he  looked — my  noble  Guise,  my  warrior,  my 
hero  ! "  and  Marguerite  leans  back  pensively  on  the 
settee,  as  though  calling  up  his  image  before  her. 

"  Her  Majesty  will  be  very  angry,  madame,  if  she 
recognised  him.  I  saw  her  questioning  the  Duke, 
his  father,  and  pointing  towards  him  as  he  disap- 
peared into  the  wood,"  answered  Charlotte,  with 
the  slightest  expression  of  bitterness  in  her  well- 
modulated  voice. 

"  Henry  has  discovered,"  continues  Marguerite, 
still  so  lost  in  reverie  that  she  does  not  heed  her  re- 
mark, "that  the  Queen  has  a  masque  to-night  on 
the  river.  He  will  be  disguised,  he  tells  me,  as  a 
Venetian  nobleman,  in  a  yellow  brocaded  robe,  with 
a  violet  mantle,  and  a  red  mask.  He  will  wear  my 


At  Chenonceau.  109 

colours — blue,  heavenly  blue,  the  symbol  of  hope 
and  faith — on  his  shoulder-knot.  Our  watchword  is 
to  be  '  Eternal  love.'  " 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  "  exclaims  Charlotte,  with  alarm, 
laying  her  hand  on  Marguerite's  shoulder,  "  your 
highness  will  not  dare  to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  Be  silent,,  petite  sottc"  breaks  in  the  Princess. 
"  We  are  to  meet  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  river. 
Charlotte,  you  must  help  me  ;  I  shall  be  sure  to  be 
watched,  but  I  must  escape  from  the  Queen  by  some 

device.  Change  my  dress,  and  then — and  then ." 

and  she  turns  her  laughing  eyes  on  the  alarmed  face 
of  Charlotte,  "  under  the  shady  woods,  by  the  par- 
terre near  the  grotto,  I  shall  meet  him — and,  alone." 

"  And  what  on  earth  am  I  to  say  to  the  Queen  if 
she  asks  for  your  highness?  "  replies  Charlotte,  turn- 
ing away  her  face  that  the  Princess  might  not  see 
the  tears  that  bedew  her  cheeks. 

"  Anything,  my  good  Charlotte  ;  you  have  a  ready 
wit,  or  my  mother  would  not  favour  you.  I  trust 
to  your  invention,  it  has  been  often  exercised,"  and 
she  looked  archly  at  her.  "Tell  the  Queen  that  I 
am  fatigued,  and  have  retired  into  the  chateau  until 
the  banquet,  when  I  will  rejoin  her  Majesty.  There 
is  no  fear,  ma  mie,  especially  as  the  Comte  de  Cler- 
mont  is  at  Chenonceau.  Her  Majesty,  stern  and 
silent  though  she  be,  unbends  to  him  and  greatly 
affects  his  company,"  and  she  laughs  softly  and 
points  towards  the  closed  door. 

"  I  trust  there  is,  indeed,  no  fear  of  discovery, 
Princess,"  returns  Charlotte  ;  "  for  her  Majesty  would 
never  forgive  me."  At  which  Marguerite  laughs  again. 

"  Princess,"  says   Charlotte,    looking   very    grave, 


1 10  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

and  seating  herself  on  a  stool  at  her  feet,  "  tell  me. 
truly,  do  you  love  the  Due  de  Guise  ?  "  Charlotte's 
fine  eyes  are  fixed  intently  on  Marguerite  as  she  asks 
this  question. 

"  Pcste  !  you  know  I  do.  He  is  as  great  a  hero  as 
Rinaldo  in  the  Italian  poet's  romance  of  Orlando, 
Somewhat  sedate,  perhaps,  for  me,  but  so  hand- 
some, spite  of  that  scar.  I  even  love  that  scar, 
Charlotte:" 

"  Does  the  Duke  love  you  ?  "  again  asks  Charlotte, 
with  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Par  exemple !  do  you  think  the  man  lives  who 
would  not  return  my  love?"  and  the  young  Princess 
colours,  and  tosses  the  masses  of  waving  brown  curls 
back  from  her  brow,  staring  at  her  companion  in  un- 
feigned astonishment. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  continues  Charlotte,  avoiding 
her  gaze,  and  speaking  in  a  peculiar  voice,  "  I  was 
thinking  of  that  poor  La  Molle,  left  alone  in  Paris. 
How  jealous  he  was  !  You  loved  him  well,  madame, 
a  week  ago." 

"  Bah !  that  is  ancient  history — we  are  at  Chenon- 
ceau  now.  When  I  return  to  Paris  it  is  possible  I 
may  console  him.  Poor  La  Molle !  one  cannot  be 
always  constant.  Charlotte,"  said  the  Princess,  after 
a  pause,  looking  inquisitively  at  her,  "  I  believe  you 
are  in  love  with  the  Balafre  yourself." 

Charlotte  colours,  and,  not  daring  to  trust  her 
voice  in  reply,  shakes  her  head  and  bends  her  eyes 
on  the  ground. 

Marguerite,  too  much  occupied  with  her  own 
thoughts  to  take  much  heed  of  her  friend's  emotion, 
pats  her  fondly  on  the  cheek,  and  proceeds — 


At  Chenonceau.  1 1 1 

"You  are  dull,  ma  mic ;  amuse  yourself  like  me, 
now  with  one,  then  with  another.  Be  constant  to 
none.  Regard  your  own  interest  and  inclination 
only.  But  leave  Guise  alone ;  he  is  my  passion. 
His  proud  reserve  pleases  me.  His  stately  devotion 
touches  me.  He  is  a  king  among  men.  I  love  to  tor- 
ment the  hero  of  Jarnac  and  Moncontour.  He  is 
jealous,  too — jealous  of  the  very  air  I  breathe  ;  but 
in  time,  that  may  become  wearisome.  I  never 
thought  of  that,"  adds  she,  musing. 

"Your  highness  will  marry  soon,"  says  Charlotte, 
rising  and  facing  the  Princess,  "  and  then  Guise  must 
console  himself " 

"With  you,  par  exemple,  belle  des  belles?  You 
need  not  blush  so,  Charlotte,  I  read  your  secret. 
But,  ma  mu\  I  mean  to  marry  Henri  de  Guise  my- 
self, even  if  my  mother  and  the  King,  my  brother, 
refuse  their  consent.  They  may  beat  me — imprison 
me — or  banish  me ;  I  will  still  marry  Henri  de 
Guise." 

"  Her  Majesty  will  never  consent  to  this  alliance, 
madame." 

"  You  are  jealous,  Charlotte,  or  you  would  not  say 
so.  Why  should  I  not  marry  him,  when  my  sister- 
in-law,  the  young  Queen  of  Scots,  is  of  the  House  of 
Lorraine?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,  but  the  case  is  altogether  differ- 
ent ;  she  is  a  Queen-regnant.  The  house  of  Lorraine 
is  already  too  powerful." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaims  the  volatile  Marguerite,  starting 
up,  "  I  love  freedom  ;  freedom  in  life,  freedom  in 
love.  Charlotte,  you  say  truly,  I  shall  never  be  con- 
stant." 


1 1 2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Then,  alas,  for  your  husband  !  He  must  love 
you,  and  you  will  break  his  heart." 

"  Husband  !  I  will  have  no  husband  but  Henri  de 
Guise.  Guise  or  a  convent.  I  should  make  an  en- 
chanting nun  !  "  And  she  laughs  a  low  merry  laugh, 
springs  to  her  feet,  and  turns  a  pirouette  on  the 
floor.  "  I  think  the  dress  would  suit  me.  I  would 
write  Latin  elegies  on  all  my  old  lovers." 

"  You  will  hear  somewhat  of  that,  madame,  later 
from  the  Queen,"  Charlotte  replies,  with  a  trium- 
phant air.  "  A  husband  is  chosen  for  you  already." 

"Who?     Who  is  he?" 

"  You  will  learn  from  her  Majesty  very  shortly." 

'*  Charlotte,  if  you  do  not  tell  me  this  instant,  I 
will  never  forgive  you  ;  "  and  Marguerite  suddenly 
becomes  grave  and  reseats  herself.  "  Next  time  you 
want  my  help  I  won't  move  a  finger." 

"  I  dare  not  tell  you,  madame." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  Guise  to-night  you  are  in  love 
with  him,"  cries  she,  reddening  with  anger. 

"  Oh,  Princess,"  exclaims  Charlotte,  sinking  at  her 
feet,  and  seizing  her  hand;  "you  would  not  be  so 
cruel ! " 

"  But  I  will,  unless  you  tell  me." 

At  this  moment,  when  Marguerite  was  dragging 
her  friend  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  determined  to  ob- 
tain an  avowal  from  her  almost  by  force,  the  low 
door  opens,  and  Catherine  stands  before  them. 


A  Dutiful  Daughter*  113 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

A   DUTIFUL   DAUGHTER. 

THE  two  girls  were  startled  and  visibly  trembled  ; 
but,  recovering  from  their  fright,  rose  and  made 
their  obeisance.  For  a  moment  Catherine  gazed  ear- 
nestly at  them,  as  if  divining  the  reason  of  their 
discomposure ;  then  beckoning  to  the  Princess,  she 
led  her  daughter  into  her  writing-room,  where  she 
seated  herself  beside  a  table  covered  with  despatches 
and  papers. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  Queen,  contemplating 
Marguerite  with  satisfaction,  as  the  Princess  stood 
before  her,  her  cheeks  flushed  by  the  fright  that 
Catherine's  sudden  entrance  had  occasioned.  "  I 
have  commanded  a  masque  to-night  on  the  river, 
and  a  banquet  in  the  water-gallery,  to  celebrate  my 
return.  You  will  attend  me  and  be  careful  not  to 
leave  me,  my  child.  Strangers  have  been  seen 
among  the  woods.  Did  you  not  mark  one  as  we 
approached  riding  near  us?"  And  Catherine  gave 
a  searching  glance  at  Marguerite.  "  I  have  given 
strict  orders  that  all  strangers  (Huguenots,  probably, 
with  evil  designs  upon  his  Majesty)  shall  be  arrested 
and  imprisoned." 

Again  Catherine  turned  her  piercing  eyes  upon 
Marguerite,  who  suddenly  grew  very  pale. 

"  My  daughter,  you  seem  indisposed,  the  heat  has 
overcome  you — be  seated." 

Marguerite  sank  into  a  chair  near  the  door.  She 
knew  that  her  mother  had  recognised  the  Duke,  and 


1 1 4  Old  Coiirt  Life  in  France. 

that  it  would  be  infinitely  difficult  to  keep  her  ap- 
pointment with  him  that  evening.  Neither  mother 
nor  daughter  spoke  for  some  moments.  Catherine 
was  studying  the  effect  of  her  words  on  Marguerite, 
and  Marguerite  was  endeavouring  to  master  her 
agitation.  When  the  Queen  next  addressed  her, 
the  Princess  was  still  pale  but  perfectly  composed. 

"  My  daughter,  you  passed  much  of  your  time  be- 
fore you  left  the  Louvre  with  the  Comte  la  Molle. 
I  know  he  is  highly  favoured  by  my  son  Anjou. 
Does  his  company  amuse  you  ?  " 

Marguerite's  cheeks  became  scarlet. 

"  Your  Majesty  has  ever  commanded  me,"  replied 
she  in  a  firm  voice,  "  to  converse  with  those  young 
nobles  whom  you  and  my  brother  the  King  have 
called  to  the  Court." 

"True,  my  child,  you  have  done  so,  I  acknowl- 
edge freely,  and,  by  such  gracious  bearing  you 
have,  doubtless,  forwarded  his  Majesty's  interests." 
There  was  again  silence.  "  Our  cousin,  the  young 
Due  Henri  de  Guise,  is  also  much  in  your  company," 
Catherine  said  at  length,  speaking  very  slowly  and 
turning  her  eyes  full  upon  Marguerite  who,  for  an 
instant,  returned  her  gaze  boldly.  "  I  warn  you, 
Marguerite,  that  neither  the  King  my  son,  nor  I, 
will  tolerate  more  alliances  with  the  ambitious 
House  of  Lorraine.  They  stand  too  near  the  throne 
already." 

Marguerite  during  this  speech  did  not  look  up, 
not  daring  to  meet  the  steadfast  glance  of  the 
Queen. 

"  Surely,"  said  she,  speaking  low,  "  your  Majesty 
has  been  prejudiced  against  the  Duke  by  my  brother 


A  Dutiful  Daughter.  1 1 5 

Charles.  His  Majesty  hates  him.  He  is  jealous  of 
him." 

"  My  child,  speak  with  more  respect  of  his  Maj- 
esty." 

"  Madame,  the  King  has  threatened  to  beat  me  if 
I  dared  to  love  the  Due  de  Guise.  But  I  am  your 
Majesty's  own  child,"  and  Marguerite  turned  to- 
wards Catherine  caressingly.  "  I  fear  not  threats." 
Catherine  smiled  and  curiously  observed  her.  "But 
your  Majesty  surely  forgets,"  continued  Marguerite, 
warmly,  "  that  our  cousin  of  Guise  is  the  chief  pillar 
of  the  throne,  a  hero  who,  at  sixteen,  vanquished 
Coligni  at  Poitiers ;  and  that  at  Massignac  and  Jar- 
nac,  in  company  with  my  brother  Anjou,  he  per- 
formed prodigies  of  valour."  » 

"  My  daughter,  I  forget  nothing.  You  appear  to 
have  devoted  much  time  to  the  study  of  the  Duke — 
our  cousin's  life.  It  is  a  brilliant  page  in  our  history. 
I  have,  however,  other  projects  for  you.  You  must 
support  the  throne  by  a  royal  marriage." 

"  Oh,  madame  !  "  exclaimed  Marguerite,  heaving 
a  deep  sigh,  and  clasping  her  hands  as  she  looked 
imploringly  at  her  mother,  who  proceeded  to  address 
her  as  though  unconscious  of  this  appeal. 

"  Avoid  Henri  de  Guise,  Princess.  I  have  already 
remonstrated  with  his  father  on  his  uninvited  pres- 
ence here,  of  which  he  professes  entire  ignorance — 
for  he  is  here,  and  you  know  it,  Marguerite  " — and 
she  shot  an  angry  glance  at  the  embarrassed  Prin- 
cess. "  Avoid  the  Duke,  I  say,  and  let  me  see  you 
attended  less  often  by  La  Molle,  or  I  must  remove 
him  from  Court." 

"  Madame  !  "  cried  Marguerite,  turning  white,  and 


1 1 6  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

looking  greatly  alarmed,  well  knowing  what  this 
removal  meant ;  "  I  will  obey  your  commands.  But 
whom,  may  I  ask,  do  you  propose  for  my  husband  ? 
Unless  I  can  choose  a  husband  for  myself" — and  she 
hesitated,  for  the  Queen  bent  her  eyes  sternly  upon 
her  and  frowned — "  I  do  not  care  to  marry  at  all," 
she  added  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Possibly  you  may  not,  my  daughter.  But  his 
Majesty  and  the  council  have  decided  otherwise. 
Your  hand  must  ultimately  seal  a  treaty  important 
to  the  King  your  brother,  in  order  to  reconcile 
conflicting  creeds  and  to  conciliate  a  powerful 
party." 

All  this  time  Marguerite  had  stood  speechless  be- 
fore the  Queen.  At  this  last  sentence,  fatal  to  her 
hopes  of  marrying  the  Due  de  Guise,  the  leader  of 
the  Catholic  party,  her  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak,  but 
she  restrained  herself  and  was  silent. 

"The  daughters  of  France,"  said  Catherine,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  "  do  not  consider  personal 
feelings  in  marriage,  but  the  good  of  the  kingdom. 
My  child,  you  are  to  marry  very  shortly  the  King  of 
Navarre.  I  propose  journeying  myself  to  the  Castle 
of  N6rac  to  conclude  a  treaty  with  my  sister,  Queen 
Jeanne,  his  mother.  Henri  de  B6arn  will  demand 
your  hand.  He  will  be  accepted  when  an  alliance 
is  concluded  between  the  Queen  of  Navarre  and 
myself." 

"  But,  my  mother,"  answered  Marguerite,  stepping 
forward  in  her  excitement,  "  he  is  a  heretic.  I  am 
very  Catholic.  Surely  your  Majesty  will  not  force 
me — 

"  You  will  convert  him,"  replied  Catherine. 


HENRY  III. 


A  Dutiful  Daughter.  117 

"  But,  madame,  the  Prince  is  not  to  my  taste.  He 
is  rough  and  unpolished.  He  is  a  mountaineer — a 
Bearnois." 

"  My  daughter,  he  will  be  your  husband.  Now, 
Marguerite,  listen  to  me.  This  marriage  is  indipen- 
sable  for  reasons  of  state.  The  King,  your  brother, 
and  I  myself  like  the  King  of  Navarre  as  little  as 
you  do.  That  little  kingdom  in  the  valleys  of  the 
Pyrenees  is  a  thorn  in  our  side  which  we  must  pluck 
out.  Those  pestilent  and  accursed  heretics  must  be 
destroyed.  We  call  them  to  our  Court ;  we  lodge 
them  in  the  Louvre — not  for  love,  Marguerite — not 
for  love.  Have  patience,  my  daughter.  I  cannot 
unfold  to  you  the  secrets  of  the  council ;  but  it  is 
possible  that  Henry  of  Navarre  may  not  live  long. 
Life  is  in  the  hands  of  God, — and  of  the  King." 
She  added  in  a  lower  voice.  "  Console  yourself.  A 
day  is  coming  that  will  purge  France  of  Huguenots ; 
and  if  Henry  do  not  accept  the  mass " 

"Madame,"  said  Marguerite,  archly  (who  had 
eagerly  followed  her  mother's  words),  "  I  trust  that 
the  service  of  his  Majesty  will  not  require  me  to 
convert  the  King  of  Navarre?  " 

"  No,  Princess,"  said  Catherine,  with  a  sinister 
smile.  "  My  daughter,"  continued  she,  "  your  duti- 
ful obedience  pleases  me.  The  King  may,  in  the 
event  of  your  marriage,  create  new  posts  of  honour 
about  the  King  of  Navarre  while  he  lives.  Monsieur 
la  Molle,  a  most  accomplished  gentleman,  shall  be 
remembered.  Au  revoir,  Princess.  Send  Charlotte 
de  Presney  to  me.  Go  to  your  apartments,  and 
prepare  for  the  masque  on  the  river  I  have  com- 
manded to-night  in  honour  of  our  arrival." 


n8  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

So  Marguerite,  full  of  thought,  curtseying  low 
before  her  mother,  kissed  her  hand,  and  retired  to 
her  apartments. 

As  the  sun  sets  and  the  twilight  deepens,  torch 
after  torch  lights  up  the  river  and  the  adjacent 
woods.  Every  window  in  the  chateau  is  illumi- 
nated, and  the  great  beacon-fires  flash  out  from  the 
turrets.  The  sound  of  a  lute,  the  refrain  of  a  song, 
a  snatch  from  a  hunting-chorus,  are  borne  upon  the 
breeze,  as,  one  by  one,  painted  barges  shoot  out 
from  under  the  arches  of  the  bridge  along  the  cur- 
rent. 

As  night  advances  the  forest  on  both  sides  of  the 
river  is  all  ablaze.  On  the  southern  bank,  where  the 
parterre  is  divided  from  the  woods  by  marble  balus- 
trades, statues,  and  hedges  of  clipped  yew,  festoons  of 
coloured  lamps  hang  from  tree  to  tree,  and  fadeaway 
into  sylvan  bowers  deep  among  the  tangled  coppice. 
The  fountains,  cunningly  lit  from  below,  flash  up  in 
streams  of  liquid  fire.  Each  tiny  streamlet  that 
crosses  the  mossy  lawns  is  a  thread  of  gold.  Tents 
of  satin  and  velvet,  fringed  with  gold,  border  broad 
alleys  and  marble  terraces  of  dazzling  whiteness. 
The  river,  bright  as  at  midday  with  the  light  of 
thousands  of  torches,  is  covered  with  gondolas  and 
fantastic  barques.  Some  are  shaped  like  birds — 
swans,  parrots,  and  peacocks  ;  others  resemble  shells, 
and  butterflies  whose  expanded  wings  of  glittering 
stuff  form  the  sails.  All  are  filled  with  maskers 
habited  in  every  device  of  quaint  disguisement.  Not 
a  face  or  form  is  to  be  recognised.  See  how  rapidly 
the  fairy  fleet  cleaves  the  water,  now  dashing  into 
deep  shadows,  now  lingering  in  the  torchlight  that 


A  Dutiful  Daughter.  119 

glances  on  the  rich  silks  and  grotesque  features  of 
the  maskers.  v  Yonder  a  whole  boat's  crew  is  en- 
tangled among  the  water  lilies  that  thickly  fringe  the 
banks  under  the  over-arching  willows.  Some  disem- 
bark among  the  fountains,  or  mount  the  broad  mar- 
ble steps  leading  to  the  arcades ;  some  descend  to 
saunter  far  away  into  the  illuminated  woods.  Others, 
tired  of  the  woods,  are  re-embarking  on  the  river. 
In  the  centre  of  the  stream  is  a  barge  with  a  raised 
platform  covered  with  velvet  embroidered  in  gold, 
on  which  are  placed  the  Queen's  musicians,  who 
wake  the  far-off  echoes  with  joyous  symphonies. 
Beyond,  in  the  woods,  are  maskers  who  dance  under 
silken  hangings  spread  among  the  overhanging 
branches  of  giant  oaks,  or  recline  upon  cushions 
piled  upon  rich  carpets  beside  tables  covered  with 
choice  wines,  fruit,  and  confectionery.  The  merry 
laughter  of  these  revellers  mixes  with  strains  of 
voluptuous  music  from  flutes  and  flageolets,  played 
by  concealed  musicians  placed  in  pavilion  orchestras 
hidden  among  the  underwood,  tempting  onwards 
those  who  desire  to  wander  into  the  dark  and  lonely 
recesses  of  the  forest. 

Among  the  crowd  which  thickly  gathers  on  the 
parterre,  a  tall  man  of  imposing  figure,  habited  in 
a  Venetian  dress  of  yellow  satin  and  wrapped  in  a 
cloak  of  the  same  colour,  paces  up  and  down.  He 
is  alone  and  impatient.  He  wears  a  red  mask  ;  con- 
spicuous on  his  right  shoulder  is  a  knot  of  blue  and 
silver  ribbons.  As  each  boat  approaches  to  dis- 
charge its  gay  freight  upon  the  bank  he  eagerly 
advances  and  mixes  with  the  company.  Then,  as 
though  disappointed,  he  returns  into  the  shadow 


I2O  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

thrown  by  the  portico  of  a  shell  grotto.  Wearied 
with  waiting,  he  seats  himself  upon  the  turf.  "  She 
will  not  come  !  "  he  says,  and  then  sinks  back  against 
a  tree  and  covers  his  face  with  his  hands.  The  foun- 
tains throw  up  columns  of  fiery  spray ;  the  soft 
music  sighs  in  the  distance ;  crowds  of  fluttering 
maskers  pace  up  and  down  the  plots  of  smooth  grass 
or  linger  on  the  terrace — still  he  sits  and  waits. 

A  soft  hand  touches  him,  and  a  sweet  voice  whis- 
pers, "  Eternal  love  !  "  It  is  the  Princess,  who,  dis- 
guised in  a  black  domino  procured  by  Charlotte  de 
Presney,  has  escaped  from  the  Queen-mother  and 
stands  before  him. 

For  an  instant  she  unmasks  and  turns  her  lustrous 
eyes  upon  him. 

Henri  de  Guise  (for  it  is  he)  leaps  to  his  feet.  He 
kneels  before  her  and  kisses  her  hands.  "  Oh  !  my 
Princess,  what  condescension !  "  he  murmurs,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  trembled  lest  I  had  been  too  bold.  I 
feared  that  my  letter  had  not  reached  you." 

A  gay  laugh  answers  his  broken  sentences. 

"My  cousin,  will  you  promise  to  take  on  your 
soul  all  the  lies  I  have  told  my  mother  in  order  to 
meet  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  absolve  you,  madame." 

"  Ah,  my  cousin,  I  have  ill  news !  My  mother 
and  the  King  are  determined  to  marry  me  to  the 
King  of  Navarre." 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaims  the  Duke  ;  "  it  would  be 
sacrilege! " 

"  Oh,  Henry  !  "  replies  the  Princess,  in  a  pleading 
voice,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  my 
cousin,  bravest  among  the  brave,  swear  by  your 


A  Dutiful  Daughter.  121 

own  sword  that  you  will  save  me  from  this  detest- 
able heretic ! " 

The  Duke  did  not  answer,  but  gently  drew  her 
near  the  entrance  of  the  grotto.  It  was  now  late, 
and  the  lights  within  had  grown  dim.  "  Marguerite," 
he  says,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  passion,  "come 
where  I  may  adore  you  as  my  living  goddess — come 
where  I  may  conjure  you  to  give  me  a  right  to  defend 
you.  Say  but  one  word,  and  to-morrow  I  will  ask 
your  hand  in  marriage ;  the  King  dare  not  refuse  me." 

"  Alas !  my  cousin,  my  mother's  will  is  absolute." 

"  It  is  a  vile  conspiracy !  "  cries  the  Duke,  in  great 
agitation.  "  The  House  of  Lorraine,  my  Princess, 
save  but  for  the  Crown,  is  as  great  as  your  own.  My 
uncle,  the  Cardinal,  shall  appeal  to  the  Holy  See. 
Marguerite,  do  but  love  me,  and  I  will  never  leave 
you  !  Marguerite,  hear  me  !  "  He  seizes  her  hands 
— he  presses  her  in  his  arms,  drawing  her  each  mo- 
ment deeper  into  the  recesses  of  the  grotto.  As 
they  disappear,  a  voice  is  heard  without,  calling 
softly — 

"  Madame  !  Madame  Marguerite  !  for  the  love  of 
heaven,  come,  come  !  " 

In  an  instant  the  spell  is  broken.  Marguerite 
extricates  herself  from  the  arms  of  the  Duke  and 
rushes  forward. 

It  is  Charlotte  de  Presney,  disguised  like  herself 
in  a  black  domino.  "  Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost," 
she  says,  hurriedly.  "  Her  Majesty  has  three  times 
asked  for  your  highness.  She  supposes  I  am  in  the 
chateau  seeking  you."  Charlotte's  voice  is  unsteady. 
She  wore  her  mask  to  conceal  her  face,  for  it  was 
bathed  in  tears. 


122  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

In  an  instant  she  and  the  Princess,  followed  by 
the  Duke,  cross  the  terrace  to  where  a  boat  is  moored 
under  the  shade  of  some  willows,  and  are  lost  in  the 
crowd. 

The  Duke  dashes  into  the  darkest  recesses  of  the 
forest,  and  is  seen  no  more. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
BEFORE   THE   STORM. 

HENRY,  King  of  Navarre,  accompanied  by  the 
Prince  de  Conde  and  his  wife,  and  attended 
by  eight  hundred  Huguenot  gentlemen  dressed  in 
black  (for  his  mother,  Queen  Jeanne,  had  died  sud- 
denly at  Paris,  while  he  was  on  the  road),  has  just 
arrived  at  the  Louvre  to  claim  the  hand  of  the 
Princess  Marguerite.  The  two  Princes  and  the 
Princesse  de  Conde  are  received  with  royal  honours 
and  much  effusion  of  compliments  by  King  Charles 
and  Catherine ;  they  are  lodged  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Louvre.  Whatever  Marguerite's  feelings  are,  she 
carefully  conceals  them.  Insinuating,  adroit,  clever, 
gifted  with  a  facile  pen  and  a  flattering  tongue,  she 
is  too  ambitious  to  resist,  too  volatile  to  be  constant. 
She  lives  in  a  world  of  intrigue,  as  she  tells  us  in  her 
memoirs,  and  piquing  herself  on  being  "  so  Catholic, 
so  devoted  to  the  'sacred  faith  of  her  fathers/  "  and 
she  pendulates  between  Henri  de  Guise  and  La 
Molle,  amid  a  thousand  other  flirtations.  She  lives 
in  a  family  divided  against  itself.  Sometimes  she 


Before  the  Storm.  123 

takes  part  with  the  Due  d'Anjou  and  watches  the 
Queen-mother  in  his  interests,  in  order  to  report 
every  word  she  says  to  him  ;  or  she  quarrels  with 
D'Anjou  and  swears  eternal  friendship  with  her 
youngest  brother,  D'Alencon — all  his  life  the  puppet 
of  endless  political  conspiracies ;  or  she  abuses  the 
King  (Charles)  because  he  listens  to  her  enemy,  De 
Gaust,  and  tells  her  that  she  shall  never  marry  the 
Due  de  Guise,  because  she  would  reveal  all  the 
secrets  of  state  to  him,  and  make  the  House  of  Lor- 
raine more  dangerous  than  it  is  already.  This  great- 
est princess  of  Europe,  young  and  beautiful,  a  "  noble 
mind  in  a  lovely  person,"  as  Brantome  says  of  her, 
is  agitated,  unhappy,  and  lonely.  "  Let  it  never  be 
said,"  writes  she,  "  that  marriages  are  made  in 
heaven  ;  God  is  not  so  unjust.  All  yesterday  my 
room  echoed  with  talk  of  weddings.  How  can  I 
purge  it  ?  " 

The  Due  de  Guise  no  longer  whispers  in  her  ear 
"  Eternal  love."  The  great  Balafre,  stern  in  resolve, 
firm  in  affection,  is  disgusted  at  her  le'gcrete.  He 
has  ceased  even  to  be  jealous.  His  mind  is  now  oc- 
cupied by  those  religious  intrigues  which  he  devel- 
oped later  as  leader  of  the  Holy  Catholic  League. 
Guise  dislikes  and  distrusts  the  Valois  race.  He 
especially  abhors  their  unholy  coquetting  with  here- 
tics in  the  matter  of  Marguerite's  approaching  mar- 
riage. He  has  now  adopted  the  motto  of  the  House 
of  Lorraine,  "  Death  to  the  Valois  !  Guise  upon  the 
throne!"  Moreover,  he  looks  with  favour  on  a 
widow — the  Princesse  de  Porcian,  whom  he  marries 
soon  after.  Guise  only  remains  at  Court  to  fulfil 
the  vow  of  vengeance  he  has  sworn  against  Coligni 


124  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

for  his  suspected  connivance  in  the  murder  of  his 
illustrious  father,  Francis  of  Guise,  of  which  accusa- 
tion Coligni  could  never  clear  himself.*  The  great 
Admiral  is  now  at  Court.  He  is  loaded  with 
favours.  Charles  IX.  has  requested  his  constant 
attendance  at  the  council  to  arrange  the  details  of  a 
war  with  Spain.  He  has  also  made  him  a  present 
of  a  thousand  francs.  The  friends  of  Coligni  warn 
him  to  beware.  His  comrade  and  friend  Montmo- 
renci  refuses  to  leave  Chantilly.  The  Admiral,  more 
honest  than  astute,  is  completely  duped.  It  is  whis- 
pered among  the  Catholics  that  revenge  is  at  hand, 
and  that  the  Protestant  princes  and  Coligni  are 
shortly  coming  to  their  death.  It  is  said  also  that 
the  marriage  liveries  of  the  Princess  will  be  "  crim- 
son," and  that  "  more  blood  than  wine  will  flow  at 
the  marriage  feast." 

And  the  Queen  ?  Serene  and  gracious,  she  moves 
with  her  accustomed  majesty  among  these  conflict- 
ing parties.  She  neither  sees,  nor  hears,  nor  knows 
aught  that  shall  disarrange  her  projects.  Silent,  in- 
scrutable, her  hands  hold  the  threads  of  life.  With- 
in her  brain  is  determined  the  issue  of  events.  Her 
son  Charles  is  a  puppet  in  her  hands.  This  once 
frank,  witty,  brave,  artistic  youth,  who  formerly 
loved  verses  and  literature, — when  not  a  roaring 
Nimrod  among  the  royal  forests, — is  morose,  cruel, 
and  suspicious  ;  convinced  that  the  whole  world  is 
playing  him  false,  all  perjured  but  his  mother.  She 
has  told  him,  and  she  has  darkly  hinted  in  the  coun- 
cil, that  events  are  approaching  a  crisis.  She  has 
secured  the  present  support  of  the  young  Due  de 
*  See  Note  II. 


Before  the  Storm.  125 

Guise  and  the  powerful  House  of  Lorraine,  ever 
foremost  when  Catholic  interests  are  at  stake.  She 
can  now  sit  down  calmly  and  marshal  each  act  in  the 
coming  drama,  as  a  general  can  marshal  those  regi- 
ments which  are  to  form  his  battle-front.  Fifteen 
hundred  Protestants  were  slaughtered  at  Amboise 
alone,  but  there  are  thousands  upon  thousands  re- 
maining, and  she  has  promised  Philip  II.,  her  awful 
son-in-law,  and  his  minister,  the  Duke  of  Alva,  that 
she  will  cut  off  the  head  of  heresy  within  the  realm 
of  France.  She  has  tried  both  parties,  intrigued 
with  both — with  Coligni  and  the  Condes,  with  Guise 
and  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine — and  she  finds  that  at 
present  orthodoxy  answers  her  purpose  best. 

Besides,  there  is  personal  hatred,  fear,  and  offence 
towards  the  Huguenots.  Did  not  Coligni  dare  to 
criticise  her  government  at  the  Council  of  Amboise? 
Did  not  Conde  (that  cautious  Bourbon)  escape  her? 
The  King  of  Navarre,  too,  her  future  son-in-law,  is 
he  to  be  lured  to  Court  and  married  to  the  fasci- 
nating Marguerite  for  nothing?  Has  not  Ruggiero 
shown  her  that  his  life  crossed  the  life  of  her  sons? 
Does  she  not  hate  him  ?  Is  he  not  adored  by  the 
people,  who,  grown  cold  towards  the  House  of 
Valois,  extol  his  vigour,  courage,  and  ability  ?  Yes, 
he  shall  marry.  Then  he  shall  die  along  with  all 
rebels,  heretics,  and  traitors !  A  general  massacre 
of  the  Huguenots  throughout  France  can  alone  sat- 
isfy her  longings  and  secure  Charles  on  the  throne. 

Thus  came  to  be  planned  that  most  tremendous 
crime,  fixed  for  the  festival  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
ostensibly  for  the  triumph  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
but  in  reality  to  compass  the  death  of  the  Queen's 


126  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

political  enemies — Navarre,  Conde,  and  Coligni — 
and  to  crush  the  freedom  of  thought  and  opinion 
brought  in  by  liberty  of  conscience  and  a  purer 
faith. 

This  was  the  Court  to  which  Henry  of  Navarre 
came,  to  be  lodged  under  the  roof  of  the  Louvre, 
and  to  marry  the  Princess  Marguerite ! 

The  marriage  took  place  on  the  i8th  of  August, 
1572,  at  Notre-Dame.*  The  outspoken  Charles  had 
said  that,  in  giving  his  sister  Margot  to  the  King  of 
Navarre,  he  gave  her  to  all  the  Huguenots  in  his 
kingdom.  The  Princess  tells  us  she  wore  a  royal 
crown  and  a  state  mantle  of  blue  velvet,  wrought 
with  gold  embroidery,  four  yards  long.  It  was  held 
up  by  three  princesses  ;  and  she  further  wore  a  cor- 
set, forming  the  body  of  her  dress,  covered  with 
brilliants,  and  the  crown  jewels.  The  streets  through 
which  she  passed  were  dressed  with  scaffoldings, 
lined  with  cloth  of  gold,  to  accommodate  the  spec- 
tators, all  the  way  from  the  Archbishop's  palace  to 
Notre-Dame. 

A  few  nights  after,  Admiral  Coligni  was  shot  at, 
with  an  arquebuse,  by  a  man  standing  at  a  barred 
window  in  the  street  of  the  Fosses  Saint-Germain, 
as  he  returned  from  playing  a  game  of  rackets  with 
the  King,  at  the  Louvre,  to  his  lodgings  at  the 
Hotel  de  Saint-Pierre,  in  the  Rue  Bethisy.  He  was 
walking  along  slowly,  reading  a  paper ;  the  finger  of 
his  right  hand  was  broken,  and  he  was  otherwise 
grievously  wounded.  The  assassin,  Maure"vert,  was 
a  fellow  known  to  be  in  the  pay  of  Henri,  Due  de 
Guise.  The  house  from  which  the  shot  was  fired 
*  See  Note  12. 


Before  the  Storm.  127 

belonged  to  the  Duke's  tutor.  The  King  of  Navarre 
and  Conde  were  overcome  at  the  news.  Charles 
IX.,  along  with  the  Queen-mother,  visited  the  Ad- 
miral next  day,  and  stayed  an  hour  with  him.  Be- 
fore leaving,  Charles  folded  him  in  his  arms  and 
wept.  "You,  my  father,"  he  said,  "have  the 
wound,  but  I  suffer  the  pain.  By  the  light  of  God, 
I  will  so  avenge  this  act  that  it  shall  be  a  warning  as 
long  as  the  world  lasts." 

A  few  hours  after  the  shot  was  fired,  the  Hugue- 
not chiefs  assembled  in  Navarre's  apartments  to 
deliberate  what  means  should  be  taken  to  punish 
the  assassin.  About  the  same  time  a  secret  council 
was  called  by  the  Queen-mother,  to  decide  whether 
or  no  Navarre  and  Conde  should  be  massacred. 
Charles  IX.,  the  Due  de  Guise — who,  however  hos- 
tile otherwise,  join  issue  to  destroy  Navarre  and 
Cond£ — Anjou,  Nevers,  and  D'Angouleme  were 
present.  It  was  resolved  that  the  King  of  Navarre 
and  the  Prince  de  Conde  should  die,  and  that  the 
massacre  should  take  place  that  very  night,  before 
the  Huguenots — alarmed  by  the  attempt  on  Coligni 
— had  time  to  concert  measures  of  defence.  Under 
pretence  of  protecting  them  from  further  violence,  all 
hotels  and  lodging-houses  were  diligently  searched, 
and  a  list  made  of  the  name,  age,  and  condition  of 
every  Protestant  in  Paris.  Orders  were  also  given 
for  the  troops  to  be  under  arms,  during  the  coming 
night,  throughout  the  city.  Every  outlet  and  por- 
tal of  the  Louvre  were  closed  and  guarded  by  Swiss 
Guards,  commanded  by  Cossein.  The  Hotel  de 
Saint-Pierre,  in  the  Rue  Be"thisy,  where  Coligni  lay, 
was  also  surrounded  by  troops,  "  for  his  safety,"  it 


128  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

was  said.  No  one  could  go  in  or  out.  At  a  given 
signal,  the  tocsin  was  to  sound  from  all  places  where 
a  bell  was  hung.  Chains  were  to  be  drawn  across 
the  streets  and  bonfires  lighted.  White  cockades, 
stitched  on  a  narrow  white  band  to  be  bound  round 
the  right  arm,  were  distributed,  in  order  that  the 
Catholics  might  be  recognised  in  the  darkness.  The 
secret,  known  to  hundreds,  was  well  kept ;  the  Hu- 
guenots were  utterly  unprepared.  "  No  one  told  me 
anything,"  said  Marguerite.*  "  They  knew  that  I 
was  too  humane.  But  the  evening  before,  being 
present  at  the  coticher  of  my  mother  the  Queen,  and 
sitting  on  a  coffer  near  my  sister  Claude,  who  seemed 
very  sad,  the  Queen,  who  was  talking  to  some  one, 
turned  round  and  saw  I  was  not  gone.  She  desired 
me  to  retire  to  bed.  As  I  was  making  my  obeisance 
to  her,  my  sister  took  me  by  the  arm  and  stopped 
me.  Then,  sobbing  violently,  she  said,  '  Good  God, 
sister,  do  not  go ! '  This  alarmed  me  exceedingly. 
The  Queen,  my  mother,  was  watching  us,  and,  look- 
ing very  angry,  called  my  sister  to  her  and  scolded 
her  severely.  She  peremptorily  desired  her  to  say 
no  more  to  me.  Claude  replied  that  it  was  not  fair 
to  sacrifice  me  like  that,  and  that  danger  might  come 
to  me. 

"  '  Never  mind/  said  the  Queen.  '  Please  God,  no 
danger  will  come  to  her;  but  she  must  go  to  bed  at 
once  in  order  to  raise  no  suspicions.'  But  Claude 
still  disputed  with  her,  although  I  did  not  hear  their 
words.  The  Queen  again  turned  to  me  angrily  and 
commanded  me  to  go.  My  sister,  continuing  her 
sobs,  bade  me  '  good-night.'  I  dared  ask  no  questions. 

*  See  Note  13. 


6V.  Bartholomew.  129 

So,  cold  and  trembling,  without  the  least  idea  of  what 
was  the  matter,  I  went  to  my  rooms  and  to  my  closet, 
where  I  prayed  to  God  to  save  me  from  I  knew  not 
what.  The  King,  my  husband,  who  had  not  come 
to  bed,  sent  word  to  me  to  do  so."  (They  occupied 
the  same  room,  she  tells  us,  but  separate  beds.)  "  I 
could  not  close  my  eyes  all  night,"  she  adds  ;  "  think- 
ing of  my  sister's  agitation,  and  sure  that  something 
dreadful  was  coming.  Before  daylight  my  husband 
got  up.  He  came  to  my  bed-side,  kissed  me,  and 
said  that  he  was  going  to  play  a  game  of  rackets  be- 
fore the  King  was  awake.  He  said  he  would  have 
justice  in  the  matter  of  the  attempt  on  the  Admiral's 
life.  Then  he  left  the  room.  I,  seeing  the  daylight, 
and  overcome  by  sleep,  told  my  nurse  to  shut  the 
door,  that  I  might  rest  longer." 

This  took  place  on  Saturday  evening,  the  23d  of 
August,  being  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ST.   BARTHOLOMEW. 

A  SIGNAL  sounded  from  the  belfry  of  Saint-Ger- 
main 1'Auxerrois.  It  was  answered  by  the 
great  bell  of  the  Palace  of  Justice  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  Seine.  Catherine  and  her  two  sons, 
Charles  IX.  and  the  Due  d'Anjou,  had  risen  long 
before  daylight.  Catherine  dared  not  leave  Charles 
to  himself.  He  was  suddenly  grown  nervous  and 
irresolute.  He  might  yet  countermand  everything. 

VOL.  I. — 9 


130  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Within  a  small  closet  over  the  gate  of  the  Louvre, 
facing  the  quays,  the  mother  and  her  two  sons  stood 
huddled  together.  Charles  was  tallest  of  the  three. 

o 

The  window  was  open  ;  it  was  still  dark  ;  the  streets 
were  empty  ;  not  a  sound  was  heard  save  the  crash- 
ing of  the  bells.  They  listened  to  the  wild  clamour 
without ;  but  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Catherine 
felt  Charles  tremble.  She  clutched  him  tightly,  and, 
dreading  to  hear  the  echo  of  her  own  voice,  she 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "  My  son,  God  has  given  your 
enemies  into  your  hands.  Let  them  not  escape  you." 

"Mort  de  Dicu,  mother,  do  you  take  me  for  a 
coward?"  whispered  back  Charles,  still  trembling. 

Suddenly  a  shot  was  fired  on  the  Quays.  The 
three  conspirators  started  as  if  the  weapon  had  been 
levelled  against  themselves. 

"Whence  this  pistol  shot  came,  who  fired  it,  or  if 
it  wounded  any  one*  I  know  not,"  writes  the  Due 
d'Anjou,  who  as  well  as  his  sister  has  left  an  account 
of  the  massacre ;  "  but  this  I  know,  that  the  report 
struck  terror  into  our  very  souls.  We  were  seized 
with  such  sudden  dread  at  the  horrors  we  had  our- 
selves invoked,  that  even  the  Queen-mother  was  dis- 
mayed. She  despatched  one  of  the  King's  gentlemen 
who  waited  without,  to  command  the  Due  de  Guise 
to  stay  all  proceedings  and  not  to  attack  Admiral 
Coligni."  This  counter  order  came  too  late.  The 
Duke  had  already  left  his  house. 

All  the  bells  in  Paris  were  now  ringing  furiously  ; 
the  quays  and  streets  were  rapidly  filling  with  citizens 
bearing  flambeaux.  Multitudes  came  pouring  in 
from  every  opening,  every  window  was  filled  with 
persons  holding  lights,  and  the  crackling  of  firearms, 


St.  Bartholomew.  131 

loud  curses,  piercing  screams,  and  wild  laughter  were 
heard  on  every  side.  In  the  midst  of  this  uproar, 
Henri  de  Guise,  thirsting  for  revenge  upon  the  sup- 
posed murderer  of  his  father,  accompanied  by  Nevers 
and  D'Angouleme,  and  a  company  of  Catholic 
nobles,  made  his  way  to  the  Hotel  Saint-Pierre, 
in  the  Rue  Bethisy,  where  Coligni  lodged. 

Coligni,  who  had  the  night  before  been  embraced 
by  his  sovereign,  lay  asleep  on  his  bed.  Some  of  his 
Protestant  friends,  Guerchi,  Teligny,  with  Cornaton 
and  Labonne  his  gentlemen,  who  had  hastened  to 
him  upon  the  news  of  the  attempted  assassination, 
lingered  in  the  anteroom.  Pare,  the  surgeon  who 
had  dressed  his  wounds,  had  not  yet  left  the  hotel. 
The  Admiral  had  been  conversing  with  him  and  with 
his  chaplain  Merlin,  who  had  offered  up  a  thanksgiv- 
ing for  his  deliverance.  Within  the  Court  five  Swiss 
Guards  stood  behind  the  outer  doors  ;  without,  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  crouched  Cossein  with  fifty 
arquebusiers,  who  had  been  gained  over  by  the  Due 
de  Guise. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  stillness  of  the  night  a  voice 
is  heard  calling  from  without,  "  Open  the  door — 
open  in  the  name  of  the  King ! "  At  the  King's 
name  the  street-door  is  immediately  unbarred ; 
Cossein  and  his  men  rush  in,  poniard  the  five  guards, 
break  open  the  inner  door,  and  dash  up  the  stairs. 
The  noise  disturbs  Cornaton,  who  descends  the 
stairs ;  he  is  pushed  violently  backwards  amid  cries 
of  " De  par  le  Rot!"  Now  the  whole  house  is 
aroused,  Merlin  has  risen,  and  Coligni  awakened 
from  his  sleep,  calls  loudly  from  the  door  of  his 
room,  "  Cornaton,  what  does  this  noise  mean  ? " 


132  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  My  dear  Lord,"  cries  Cornaton  hurrying  up  to 
him,  wringing  his  hands,  "  it  means  that  it  is  God 
who  summons  you  !  The  hall  below  is  carried  by 
your  enemies — Cossein  is  a  traitor — we  cannot  save 
you — we  have  no  means  of  defence  !  " 

"  I  understand,"  replies  Coligni,  unmoved.  "It  is 
a  plot  to  destroy  me  now  that  I  am  wounded  and 
cannot  defend  myself.  I  have  long  been  prepared 
to  die.  I  commend  my  soul  to  God.  Cornaton, 
Merlin,  and  the  others,  if  the  doors  are  forced  you 
cannot  save  me,  save  yourselves."  Coligni  returns 
to  his  room. 

By  this  time  the  Admiral's  retainers  are  aroused 
and  enter  his  chamber,  but  no  sooner  does  he  repeat 
the  words,  "  Save  yourselves,  you  cannot  save  me," 
than  they  lose  not  a  moment  in  escaping  to  the 
leads  of  the  house.  One  man  only  remains  with  his 
master;  his  name  is  Nicolas  Muso.  The  door  is 
then  shut,  barred,  and  locked. 

Meanwhile  Cossein,  heavily  mailed  and  sword  in 
hand,  having  slain  all  he  has  found  in  his  way,  is  on 
the  landing.  Besme,  a  page  of  the  Due  de  Guise, 
Attin,  and  Sarbaloux  are  with  him  ;  they  force  open 
the  door  of  Coligni's  room. 

The  Admiral,  his  long  white  hair  falling  about  his 
shoulders,  is  seated  in  an  arm-chair.  There  is  a 
majesty  about  him  even  thus  wounded,  unarmed  and 
alone,  that  daunts  his  assailants.  The  traitor  Cossein 
falls  back.  Besme  advances  brandishing  his  sword. 

"  Are  you  Admiral  Coligni  ?  "  he  cries. 

"  I  am,"  replies  the  veteran,  following  with  his 
eyes  the  motion  of  the  sword.  "  Young  man, 
respect  my  grey  hairs  and  my  infirmities,"  and  he 


ADMIRAL  COLIGNI. 


St.  Bartholomew.  133 

signs  to  his  arm  bound  up  and  swathed  to  his  side. 
Besme  makes  a  pass  at  him.  "  If  I  could  have  died 
by  the  hands  of  a  gentleman  and  not  of  this  varlet !  " 
exclaims  the  Admiral.  Besme  for  answer  plunges 
his  sword  up  to  the  hilt  into  Coligni's  breast. 

A  voice  is  now  heard  from  without  under  the 
window — "  Besme,  you  are  very  long;  is  all  over?" 

"  All  is  over,"  answers  Besme,  thrusting  his  head 
out  and  displaying  his  bloody  sword. 

"  Sirrah,  here  is  the  Due  de  Guise,  and  I,  the 
Chevalier  d'Angouleme.  We  will  not  believe  it 
until  we  see  the  body.  Fling  it  out  of  the  window, 
like  a  good  lad." 

With  some  difficulty  the  corpse  is  raised  and 
thrown  into  the  street  below.  The  gashed  and 
bleeding  remains  of  the  old  hero  fall  heavily  upon 
the  pavement.  Henri  de  Guise  stoops  down  to 
feast  his  eyes  upon  his  enemy.  The  features  are  so 
veiled  with  blood  he  cannot  recognise  them.  He 
takes  out  his  handkerchief  and  wipes  the  wrinkled 
face  clean.  "  I  know  you  now — Admiral  Coligni," 
says  he,  "  and  I  spurn  you.  Lie  there,  poisonous 
old  serpent  that  murdered  my  father.  Thou  shalt 
shed  no  more  venom,  reptile ! "  and  he  kicks  the 
corpse  into  a  corner,  amidst  the  dirt  and  mud  of  the 
thoroughfare.  (Coligni's  dead  body*  is  carried  to 
the  gallows  at  Montfaucon,  where  it  hangs  by  the 
feet  from  a  chain  of  iron.)  Guise  then  turns  to  the 
fifty  arquebusiers  behind  him.  "  En  avant — en 
avant,  mes  enfants  !  "  he  shouts  ;  "  you  have  made  a 
good  beginning — set  upon  the  others — slaughter 
them  all — men,  women — even  infants  at  the  breast 

*  See  Note  14. 


134  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

— cut  them  down."  Sword  in  hand  Guise  rushes 
through  the  streets  with  Nevers,  D'Angouleme,  and 
Tavannes,  as  well  as  Gondi  and  De  Rerz,  who  have 
now  joined  him,  at  his  back. 

Meanwhile,  Marguerite  de  Valois  is  awakened  by 
some  one  beating  violently  with  feet  and  hands 
against  her  door  crying  out,  "  Navarre  !  Navarre  !  " 
"  My  nurse,"  writes  she,  "  thinking  it  was  the  King, 
ran  and  opened  the  door  ;  but  it  was  M.  de  Seran, 
grievously  wounded  and  closely  pursued  by  four 
archers,  who  cried  out,  '  Kill  him  ;  kill  him  !  spare 
no  one.'  De  Seran  threw  himself  on  my  bed  to 
save  himself.  I,  not  knowing  who  he  was,  jumped 
out,  and  he  with  me,  holding  by  me  tightly.  We 
both  screamed  loudly ;  I  was  as  frightened  as  he 
was,  but  God  sent  M.  de  Nanc.ay,  Captain  of  the 
Guards,  who  finding  me  in  this  condition,  could  not 
help  laughing.  He  drove  the  archers  out  and  spared 
the  life  of  this  man,  whom  I  put  to  bed  in  my  closet 
and  kept  there  till  he  was  well.  I  changed  my 
night-dress,  which  was  covered  with  blood.  M.  de 
Nanc,ay  assured  me  that  my  husband  was  safe  and 
with  the  King.  He  threw  over  me  a  cloak,  and 
took  me  to  my  sister  Claude,  in  whose  room  I  arrived 
more  dead  than  alive  ;  specially  so  when,  as  I  set 
my  foot  in  the  antechamber,  a  gentleman  named 
Bourse  dropped,  pierced  by  a  ball,  dead  at  my  feet. 
I  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of  M.  de  Nancay,  think- 
ing I  was  killed  also.  A  little  recovered,  I  went 
into  the  small  room  beyond  where  my  sister  slept. 
While  I  was  there,  two  gentlemen-in-waiting,  who 
attended  my  husband,  rushed  in,  imploring  me  to 
save  their  lives.  So  I  went  to  the  King  and  to  the 


St.  Bartholomew.  135 

Queen,  my  brother  and  my  mother,  and  falling  on 
my  knees  begged  that  these  gentlemen  might  be 
spared,  which  was  granted  to  me." 

"  Having,"  continues  Marguerite,  "  failed  in  the 
principal  purpose,  which  was  not  so  much  against  the 
Huguenots  as  against  the  Princes  of  the  blood — the 
King  my  husband,  and  the  Prince  of  Conde'- — the 
Queen,  my  mother,  came  to  me  and  '  asked  me  to 
break  my  marriage?  But  I  replied  that  I  would  not  ; 
being  sure  that  she  only  proposed  this  in  order  to 
murder  my  husband."  * 

The  magic  mirror  of  Ruggiero  had  revealed  the 
truth  ;  Henry  of  Navarre  led  a  charmed  life.  Of  his 
escape,  against  the  express  command  of  the  all-pow- 
erful Catherine,  various  accounts  are  related.  He 
is  said  to  have  been  saved  by  his  wife,  but  of  this 
she  says  nothing.  It  is  believed  on  good  authority 
that,  with  the  Prince  de  Conde,  he  went  out  unusu- 
ally early,  before  daybreak  even,  in  order  to  prepare 
for  playing  that  identical  game  of  rackets,  of  which 
he  spoke  to  Marguerite  and  which  probably  saved 
his  life.  When  it  is  discovered  that  these  two  princes, 
Conde"  and  Navarre,  are  both  alive,  they  are  sum- 
moned to  the  King's  presence.  They  find  Charles, 
arquebuse  in  hand,  within  the  same  small  closet 
over  the  gate  of  the  Louvre.  He  has  been  there 
since  daybreak.  A  page  stands  by  him,  ready  to 
reload  his  weapon.  He  is  mad  with  exultation  and 
excitement ;  he  leans  out  of  window  to  watch  the 
crowds  of  fugitives  rush  by  and  to  shout  to  the  Swiss 
Guards  below  —  "Kill — kill  all — cut  them  all  in 
pieces !  "  "  Pardieu  !  see,"  he  roars  out,  pointing  to 

*See  Note  15. 


136  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

the  river,  "  there  is  a  fellow  yonder  escaping.  By 
the  mass,  look — one,  two,  three— -they  are  swimming 
across  the  Seine — at  them,  at  them — take  good  aim 
— shoot  them  down,  the  carrion  !  "  Volleys  of  shot 
are  the  reply.  Charles  had  recovered  his  nerves  ;  he 
now  looks  on  Huguenots  as  game,  and  has  been 
potting  them  with  remarkable  precision  from  the 
window.  With  hideous  mirth,  he  boasts  to  Navarre 
and  Conde  how  many  heretics  he  has  brought  down 
with  his  own  hand.  He  counts  upon  his  fingers  the 
names  of  the  Huguenot  chiefs  already  slaughtered. 
He  yells  with  fiendish  laughter  when  he  describes 
how  Coligni,  whom  the  night  before  he  had  called 
"  father,"  looked  when  dead.  "  By  the  light  of 
God,  it  is  a  royal  chase !  "  shrieks  Charles,  as  the 
page  quickly  reloads  his  arquebuse.  "  That  last  shot 
was  excellent.  Not  a  heretic  shall  be  left  in  France." 
Again  he  points  his  gun  and  shoots  ;  a  piercing  cry 
follows.  Charles  nods  his  head  approvingly.  "We 
will  have  them  all — babies  and  their  mothers. 
'  Break  the  eggs  and  the  nest  will  rot.'  Our  mother 
says  well — we  must  reign.  We  will  no  longer  be 
contradicted  by  our  subjects.  We  will  teach  them 
to  revere  us  as  the  image  of  the  living  God.  You, 
Princes," — and  as  he  turns  to  address  the  King  of 
Navarre  and  Conde,  his  tall,  gaunt  figure,  distorted 
countenance,  bleared  and  bloodshot  eyes,  and  mat- 
ted hair  are  repulsive  to  look  upon — "  You,  Princes, 
I  have  called  hither,  out  of  compassion  for  your 
youth,  to  give  you  a  chance  for  your  lives,  as  you  are 
alive, — but  by  the  holy  Oriflamme,  /  tJwuglit  you 
were  both  dead  already.  You  are,  both  of  you,  rebels, 
and  sons  of  rebels.  You  must  instantly  recant  and 


St.  Bartholomew.  137 

enter  the  true  Church  or  you  must  die.  So  down 
on  your  knees,  both  of  you.  Purge  yourselves  from 
your  accursed  sect.  Give  me  your  parole,  and  your 
swords  too,  Princes,  that  you  will  not  leave  the 
Louvre  ;  or,  Dieu  des  Dieux,  you  shall  be  massacred 
like  the  rest !  " 

Thus  did  Henry  IV.  and  the  Prince  de  Cond£ 
escape  death,  unknown  to,  and  contrary  to  the  ex- 
press orders  of  Catherine. 

Without,  Paris  is  a  charnel-house.  The  streets  are 
choked  up  by  murdered  Huguenots.  Carts  and 
litters  full  of  dead  bodies,  huddled  together  in  a 
hideous  medley,  rumble  along  the  rough  causeways, 
to  be  shot  into  the  Seine.  The  river  runs  red  with 
blood ;  its  current  is  dammed  up  with  corpses.  But 
the  Court  is  merry.  Catherine  triumphs.  Her 
ladies — la  petite  bande  de  la  Reine — go  forth  and 
pick  their  way  in  the  gory  mud,  to  scrutinise 
the  dead,  piled  in  heaps  against  the  walls  and 
in  the  courts  of  the  Louvre,  to  recognise  friends 
or  lovers. 

On  the  6th  September  the  news  of  the  massacre 
reaches  Rome  by  letters  from  the  Nuncio.  Gregory 
XIII.  commands  solemn  masses  and  thanksgivings 
to  God  for  the  event.  The  cannon  of  St.  Angelo 
booms  over  the  papal  city  ;  fcux  de  joie  are  fired  in 
the  principal  streets  ;  a  medal  is  struck  ;  a  jubilee  is 
published ;  a  legate  is  sent  into  France ;  a  proces- 
sion, in  which  the  Pope,  Cardinals,  and  Ministers  to 
the  See  of  Rome  appear,  visit  the  great  Basilicas ; 
the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  uncle  to  the  Balafr£,  then 
at  Rome,  is  present,  and  in  the  name  of  his  master, 
Charles  IX.,  congratulates  his  Holiness  on  the 


138  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

efficacy  of  his  prayers  these  seventeen  years  past  for 
the  destruction  of  heretics. 

Blood  calls  for  blood  !  *  Charles  IX.,  whose  royal 
mandate  authorised  the  massacre  (which  lasted  seven 
days  and  seven  nights),  falls  sick  two  years  after  at 
the  Castle  of  Vincennes.  "  I  know  not  what  has 
befallen  me,"  he  says  to  his  surgeon,  Ambrose  Pare  : 
"  my  mind  and  body  both  burn  with  fever.  Asleep 
or  awake,  I  see  the  mangled  Huguenots  pass  before 
me.  They  drip  with  blood ;  they  make  hideous 
faces  at  me ;  they  point  to  their  open  wounds  and 
mock  me.  Holy  Virgin  !  I  wish,  Pare,  I  had  spared 
the  old  and  the  infirm  and  the  infants  at  the  breasts." 
Aged  twenty-four,  Charles  died,  abhorring  the 
mother  whose  counsels  had  led  him  to  this  execrable 
deed — abhorring  her  so  intensely  that  he  could  not 
even  bear  her  in  his  sight.  In  her  place  he  called 
for  the  King  of  Navarre,  and  confided  to  him  his 
last  wishes.  He  died,  poor  misguided  youth,  piously 
thanking  God  that  he  left  no  children.  The  blood 
actually  oozed  from  the  pores  of  his  skin.  His  cries 
and  screams  were  horrible. 

Thus  another  King  of  France  passed  into  the  world 
of  spirits,  bringing  Henry  of  Navarre  one  step  nearer 
the  throne.  Charles,  according  to  the  prediction  of 
Ruggiero,  had  died  young,  bathed  in  his  own  blood. 

And  Catherine  ?  Calm,  undaunted,  still  hand- 
some, she  inaugurated  a  new  reign — that  of  her 
third  and  best  beloved  son,  Henri,  Due  d'Anjou  and 
King  of  Poland,  popularly  known  by  the  style  and 
title  of  Henry  III.,  "  by  the  favour  of  his  mother  inert 
King  of  France" 

*  See  Note  16. 


The  End  of  Catherine  de  Medici.       139 
CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  END  OF  CATHERINE  DE'  MEDICI. 

FIFTEEN  years  have  passed.  The  Queen-mother 
is  now  seventy.  She  suffers  from  a  mortal  dis- 
ease, and  lies  sick  at  the  Chateau  of  Blois. 

Hither  her  son  Henry  III.  and  his  Court  have  come 
to  meet  the  States-General.  Trouble  is  in  the  king- 
dom ;  for  the  great  Balafre,  supported  by  Rome  and 
Spain,  is  in  rebellion  ;  Henry  totters  on  his  throne. 

And  what  a  throne !  What  a  monarch  !  Henry, 
who  in  his  youth  was  learned,  elegant,  sober,  who 
fought  at  Jarnac  and  Moncontour*  like  a  Paladin, 
has  become  effeminate,  superstitious,  and  vicious. 
His  sceptre  is  a  cup-and-ball  ;  his  sword,  a  tuft  of 
feathers  ;  he  paints  and  dresses  like  a  woman,  covers 
himself  with  jewels,  and  passes  his  time  in  arranging 
ecclesiastical  processions,  or  in  festivals,  pageants, 
masques,  and  banquets.  His  four  favourites 
("minions"  they  are  called,  and  also  "beggars," 
from  their  greed  and  luxury),  De  Joyeuse,  D'Eper- 
non,  Schomberg,  and  Maugiron,  govern  him  and 
the  kingdom.  They  are  handsome  and  satirical, 
and  think  to  kill  the  King's  enemies  with  ridicule 
zndjeux  de  mots.  But  Henri  de  Guise,  who  sternly 
rebukes  their  ribaldry  and  abhors  their  dissolute 
manners,  is  not  the  man  to  be  conquered  by  such 
weapons  as  words.  He  has  placed  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  Catholic  League,  negotiates  with  Spain, 
and  openly  aspires  to  the  throne. 

*  See  Note  17. 


140  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

For  a  moment  there  is  peace.  Henry  before 
leaving  Paris,  by  the  advice  of  his  mother  summoned 
the  Due  de  Guise  from  Nancy  to  Paris.  The  Bala- 
fre  enters  the  capital  in  disguise.  The  cry,  "  The 
Duke  is  with  us !  "  spreads  over  the  city  like  light- 
ning. The  populace,  who  adore  Guise  and  detest 
Henry,  tear  off  his  mask  and  cloak  and  lead  him 
through  the  streets  in  triumph.  Catherine,  although 
very  ill,  is  so  alarmed  at  the  threatening  aspect  of 
affairs,  that  she  causes  herself  to  be  carried  out  to 
meet  him,  borne  in  a  chair,  and  so  brings  him  to  the 
Louvre  into  the  presence  of  the  King.  His  insolent 
bearing  transports  Henry  with  rage.  The  citizens, 
not  to  be  pacified,  fall  out  with  the  King's  guards, 
and  there  is  a  fearful  uproar  in  the  city.  The  Louvre 
is  besieged.  Henry,  haughty  and  obstinate,  is  no 
longer  safe  in  Paris.  Marechal  d'Ornano  offers  to 
assassinate  the  Due  de  Guise,  but  the  King,  by  ad- 
vice of  D'Epernon,  affects  to  yield  to  the  policy  of 
his  mother,  and  to  accept  the  supremacy  of  Guise. 
Under  pretence,  however,  of  a  walk  in  the  Tuileries 
Gardens,  then  newly  planted,  he  orders  his  horses 
to  be  saddled,  and  escapes  out  of  Paris,  by  way  of 
Montmartre,  attended  only  by  his  favourites.  He 
reaches  Chartres  in  safety.  At  Chartres  he  is  joined 
by  Catherine,  and  a  treaty  is  signed — a  treaty  of 
false  peace,  for  already  D'Epernon  and  Joyeuse  are 
whispering  into  the  King's  ear  that  "  the  Due  de 
Guise  must  die." 

The  treaty  stipulates  that  Henry  be  declared 
Head  of  the  Catholic  League ;  that  all  Huguenots 
be  banished — notably  the  King  of  Navarre,  heir- 
presumptive  to  the  throne ;  and  that  the  Due  de 


CATHERINE  DE'  MEDICI. 


The  End  of  Catherine  de  Medici.       1 4 1 

Guise  be  Lieutenant-General  of  the  kingdom.  The 
States-General  are  to  be  immediately  assembled ; 
and  Henri  de  Guise,  once  the  poetic  lover,  now 
hardened  into  the  cold,  ambitious  bigot — ready  to 
usurp  the  throne  of  France  to  ensure  the  triumph 
of  the  Catholic  party,  and  exclude  the  King  of  Na- 
varre— canvasses  France,  to  insure  a  majority  for 
the  Holy  League  against  those  pertinacious  enemies 
of  orthodoxy,  Conde  and  Navarre. 

The  King,  meanwhile,  overridden  and  humiliated, 
agrees  to  everything,  and  listens  complacently  to 
D'Epernon,  who  tells  him,  "  He  will  never  be  king 
while  Guise  lives."  So,  for  the  moment,  there  is 
peace. 

Now  the  King  has  left  Chartres,  and  is  at  Blois. 
The  Balafre  and  his  brother  the  Cardinal  are  also 
there  to  attend  the  Parliament,  which  is  summoned, 
and  to  make  known  their  grievances.  So  the  sunny 
little  town  of  Blois,  sloping  sweetly  downwards  to 
the  Loire,  with  its  superb  castle  marked  by  towers, 
turrets,  broad  flat  roofs,  painted  windows,  and  ample 
courts,  is  the  theatre  on  which  the  great  battle  is  to 
be  fought  between  the  rival  houses  of  Guise  and 
Valois.  All  the  chiefs  on  either  side  are  to  be  pres- 
ent at  a  council  which  is  to  precede  the  meeting 
of  the  Assembly.  Henry — at  the  instigation  of 
D'Epernon — the  better  to  play  his  perfidious  game 
has  communicated  at  the  same  altar  with  the  Bala- 
fre and  his  brother  the  Cardinal,  and  given  them  the 
kiss  of  peace  to  seal  their  reconciliation. 

Catherine's  apartments  are  on  the  first  floor  of 
the  chateau, — a  gallery-saloon,  the  diamonded  win- 
dows set  in  painted  arches  overlooking  the  town,  the 


142  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

dark  walls,  decorated  with  a  crowned  C  and  a  mono- 
gram in  gold  ;  her  oratory-,  with  a  large  oval  window 
where  an  altar  stands ;  her  writing-closet,  with  many 
concealed  drawers  and  secrets  in  the  walls — a  hidden 
stair  leading  to  an  observatory,  and  a  sleeping-room 
with  a  recess  for  her  bed.  So  unaltered  are  these 
rooms  that  the  presence  of  Catherine  still  haunts 
them  ;  she  faces  one  at  every  step. 

In  her  bed  within  that  recess  the  great  Queen  lies 
dying.  She  is  old  and  broken,  and  her  mind  wanders 
at  times  through  excess  of  pain.  But  she  cannot 
die  in  peace,  for  she  knows  that  her  son  Henry — the 
last  of  her  race — meditates  a  hideous  crime  ;  a  crime 
in  which  she  would  have  gloried  once,  but  now, 
racked  with  bodily  suffering  and  mental  anguish, 
with  remorse  for  the  past  and  terror  for  the  future, 
she  shudders  at  the  very  thought. 

She  calls  him  to  her.  Henry,  her  beloved  Anjou ! 
As  he  enters  her  chamber,  she  struggles  upright  on 
her  bed.  No  one  would  have  recognised  the  majestic 
Queen  in  the  hideous  skeleton  that  now  speaks. 

"  What  are  you  about  to  do,  my  son  ?  "  she  asks 
in  a  tremulous  voice ;  "  answer  me,  Henry.  I  fear 
I  know  too  well  what  is  on  your  mind.  God  grant 
you  may  succeed,  but  I  fear  evil  will  come  of  it. 
The  Duke  and  his  brother  are  too  powerful." 

"  The  very  reason  they  should  die,  my  mother. 
I  shall  never  be  King  of  France  while  they  live." 

"  But,  Henry,"  gasps  Catherine,  trembling  from 
weakness  and  excitement,  as  she  clasps  her  son's 
hand,  "  have  you  taken  measures  to  assure  yourself 
of  the  cities?  Have  you  communicated  with  the 
Holy  Father?  Do  this,  do  it  at  once!" 


TJie  End  of  Catherine  de  Medici.       1 43 

"  Madame,  good  measures  have  been  taken ; 
trouble  not  yourself  further." 

"  But,  my  son,"  continues  Catherine  with  increas- 
ing agitation,  "  the  Cardinal  de  Guise  has  been  here 
to  visit  me;  they  are  full  of  suspicion.  The  Cardinal 
says  that  I  have  betrayed  them.  I  replied,  '  May  I 
die,  my  cousin,  if  I  have  anything  to  do  with  any 
treason  whatever.'  My  son,  I  am  in  great  agony," 
and  she  groans  and  turns  her  eyes  glowing  with 
fever  full  upon  him;  "do  not  listen  to  D'Epernon; 
let  there  be  peace  while  I  live,  and  after." 

"  What ! "  cries  Henry,  disengaging  himself  from 
her  and  striding  up  and  down  the  room.  "  What ! 
spare,  when  Guise,  triumphant  among  the  citizens  of 
Paris,  dared  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword 
in  our  very  presence  at  the  Louvre  !  Spare  him  who 
drove  me  a  fugitive  from  the  capital !  Spare  the 
chief  of  the  League,  who,  assisted  by  Spain,  is  dis- 
membering France !  Spare  them,  when  they  will 
both  be  within  this  castle  to-night,  to  attend  the 
council !  Spare  them  who  never  spared  ME !  No, 
my  mother,  I  will  NOT  spare  them  !  Your  sickness 
has  weakened  your  courage.  '  A  nut  for  a  nut '  was 
once  your  motto.  It  is  mine.  If  the  Balafre  and 
the  Cardinal  enter  these  doors  to-morrow  they  shall 
not  go  hence  alive  ;  they  shall  die  like  rebels  as  they 
are." 

"  Alas !  my  son,"  says  the  Queen  in  a  very  low 
voice, — she  has  fallen  back  exhausted  upon  the  bed, 
— "  alas !  it  is  easy  to  cut  the  thread  of  life ;  but 
once  cut,  can  you  mend  it  ?  Shed  no  more  blood, 
Henry,  for  my  sake,  for  I  am  dying.  Let  my  last 
hour  be  undisturbed.  I  have  much  that  troubles 


144  Old  Court  Life  in  France, 

me,"  and  she  heaves  a  deep  sigh.  "Too  much 
blood  has  flowed  already.  Spare  them,  Henry, 
spare  them." 

"  My  mother,  you  never  spared  an  enemy  when 
within  your  power,  nor  will  I.  Either  Guise  or  I 
must  die.  You  have  taught  me  that  all  means  are 
good  to  save  the  sovereign  and  support  his  authority. 
My  brother  Charles,  by  your  order,  spared  not 
Coligni  and  massacred  the  Huguenots  at  the  festival 
of  St.  Bartholomew.  /  helped  him.  The  Guises, 
madame,  must  die." 

"  But,  my  son,"  replies  Catherine,  wringing  her 
bony  hands,  and  struggling  again  to  raise  herself 
upright,  "  it  is  sacrilege.  You  have  sworn  peace 
upon  the  altar ;  you  have  eaten  together  the  body 
of  the  Lord." 

Catherine's  voice  is  so  feeble,  that  the  King 
either  does  not  hear,  or  does  not  heed  her.  He  still 
strides  up  and  down  the  room,  speaking  from  time 
to  time  as  if  to  himself. 

"  Every  detail  is  arranged ;  we  cannot  fail.  To- 
morrow the  guards  within  the  walls  will  be  doubled  ; 
a  hundred  Swiss  will  be  posted  at  the  entrance  in 
the  courtyard  and  on  the  grand  staircase.  When 
the  Duke  arrives,  Crillon  will  see  that  the  outer 
gates  are  closed.  As  soon  as  Guise  enters  the 
council-chamber,  I  will  send  for  him  into  my  closet. 
When  he  has  passed  through  the  guard-room  to 
reach  it,  Nambre  will  bar  the  door,  that  he  may  not 
return.  My  trusty  Dalahaide  and  the  guards — the 
45th — who  will  be  hidden  on  the  secret  stair  behind 
the  arras,  will  then  rush  down,  fall  upon  the  traitor 
as  he  passes  through  the  guard-room,  and  finish  him." 


The  End  of  Catherine  de  Medici.       145 

Catherine,  with  haggard  eyes,  listens  breathlessly. 
When  the  King  has  ceased  speaking  and  looks  round 
for  a  reply,  she  has  fainted. 

The  next  morning  the  sky  was  black  with  clouds. 
The  month  was  December.  It  rained  violently,  and 
the  wind  howled  round  the  corners  of  the  chateau. 
Catherine,  lying  in  the  uneasy  slumber  of  disease, 
was  awakened  at  eight  o'clock  by  the  sound  of  heavy 
footsteps  overhead.  The  state  apartments  are  on 
the  second  floor,  immediately  over  and  correspond- 
ing with  those  of  the  Queen-mother.  They  still 
remain,  gloomy  and  ill-omened,  haunted  by  evil 
memories.  Every  plank  has  its  history — each  corner 
a  ghastly  detail.  There  is  the  hidden  stair  within  the 
wall,  concealed  by  tapestry,  where  Dalahaide  and  the 
guards  hid  ;  the  door  against  which  the  great  Balafre 
fell,  stabbed  by  Malines  in  the  breast,  where  he  was 
spurned  by  the  heel  of  the  King,  as  he  himself  had 
spurned  Coligni,  and  where  he  lay  long  uncovered, 
until  an  old  carpet  was  found  in  which  to  wrap  his 
corpse. 

Catherine,  listening  breathlessly,  hears  the  council 
assembling.  Heavy  footsteps  are  passing  backwards 
and  forwards  through  the  guard-room  overhead  to 
the  royal  gallery  where  the  council  is  to  meet. 
Then  all  is  hushed,  and  the  face  of  the  dying  queen 
flushes  with  hope,  and  her  hands  clasp  themselves  in 
prayer,  if,  perchance,  at  the  last  moment  Henry  has 
relented  and  listened  to  her  entreaties  to  spare  the 
Duke. 

A   moment   after  a  door   closes  violently.     She 


146  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

hears  a  single  footstep — a  powerful  and  firm  foot- 
step. It  crosses  the  floor.  Then  came  loud  tramp- 
lings,  as  of  a  rush  of  armed  men,  a  clash  of  weapons, 
a  fall  as  of  a  heavy  body ;  then  a  terrible  cry — 

"  A  moi,  mes  amis  ! — trahison  ! — a  moi,  Guise, — 
je  me  meurs." 

The  dying  woman  knows  that  all  is  over ;  she 
sinks  back  on  her  bed  raving  in  delirium.  In  a  few 
days  she  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    LAST   OF   THE   VALOIS. 

WE  are  at  Saint-Cloud.  The  time,  the  wars  of  the 
League.  At  the  head  of  the  Leaguers  is  the 
Due  de  Mayenne,  only  living  brother  of  the  Guises. 
Henry  III.  commands  the  royal  forces.  With  him  is 
Henry  of  Navarre.  Since  the  Queen-mother's  death 
the  King  of  France  has  become  reconciled  to  his 
brother-in-law.  He  shows  himself  almost  a  hero. 
They  are  both  defending  the  Crown  to  which  May- 
enne aspires.  Eight  months  have  passed  since  the 
murder  of  the  Balafre".  That  treacherous  deed  has 
done  the  King  no  good  ;  Mayenne  lives  to  avenge  his 
brother's  death,  and  the  Catholic  party  is  still  more 
alienated  from  the  King  since  he  has  called  a  heretic 
into  his  councils.  The  royal  troops  are  lying  en- 
camped among  the  hilly  woodlands  of  the  park 
towards  Ville  d'Avray  and  Meudon,  then,  as  now, 
pleasant  to  the  eye. 


The  Last  of  the  Valois.  147 

On  the  1st  August,  1589,  Henry  sat  in  the  long 
gallery  of  the  palace  (until  lately  lined  with  pictures 
and  gorgeously  decorated),  playing  at  cards  with  his 
attendants.  He  holds  himself  so  upright,  that  he 
moves  neither  his  head  nor  his  feet,  and  his  hands 
as  little  as  possible.  A  hood  hangs  upon  his 
shoulders ;  a  little  cap,  with  a  flower  stuck  in  it,  is 
placed  over  one  ear ;  round  his  neck,  suspended  by 
a  broad  blue  ribbon,  is  a  basket  of  gold  wickenvork, 
full  of  little  puppies. 

Monsieur  d'O,  Seigneur  of  Fiesnes  and  Maillebois, 
first  gentleman  of  the  bed-chamber,  and  Governor 
of  Paris,  has  been  joking  him  about  the  predictions 
of  an  astrologer,  named  Osman,  who  has  arrived 
that  evening  at  Saint-Cloud  in  company  with  some 
noblemen. 

"  By  our  Ladye-mother !  let  us  have  him  in  and 
hear  what  he  can  say,"  cries  the  King.  "These 
fellows  are  diverting.  I  will  question  him  myself." 

Osman  is  sent  for ;  but  startled  at  so  sudden  and 
unexpected  an  interview  with  the  King  himself  in 
such  a  whimsical  attire,  scarcely  knows  how  to  reply 
to  the  gibes  his  Majesty  addressed  to  him. 

"  Come,  come,"  says  the  King,  "  let  us  hear  what 
you  can  do.  They  tell  me  you  draw  horoscopes. 
Let  me  have  a  specimen  of  your  skill." 

"  Sire,"  replies  Osman,  somewhat  recovered  from 
his  confusion,  "  I  will  obey  you  ;  but,  as  sure  as  fate, 
the  heavens  this  night  are  unpropitious.  The  light 
of  the  moon  is  veiled  ;  there  are  signs  of  mourning 
among  the  stars ;  lamentations  and  woe  are  written 
in  the  planets ;  a  great  misfortune  hangs  over  you 
—Beware!" 


148  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  By  St.  Denis !  "  cries  the  King,  "  the  fellow  is 
glib  enough  with  his  tongue ;  but  tell  me,  good 
heathen,  are  the  stars  in  mourning  for  a  king  or  for 
an  emperor?  " 

"  Sire,  they  mourn  over  the  approaching  extinc- 
tion of  your  race." 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !  "  answers  the  King,  with 
affected  consternation,  caressing  his  puppies.  "  But 
tell  me  now,  if  you  have  any  knowledge,  what  do 
the  celestial  powers  think  of  those  accursed  rebels, 
the  Leaguers,  and  their  chief,  the  Due  de  Mayenne? 
Is  that  bold  traitor  in  favour  among  the  stars?" 

Osman  does  not  at  once  reply  ;  but,  advancing  to 
the  window,  throws  open  the  sash,  and  silently 
observes  the  heavens. 

"  Sire,  I  see  one  star  shining  brightly  in  the  firma- 
ment." 

"  Where  ?  "  asks  the  King. 

"  Just  over  the  Camp  of  Meudon,  where  Henry  of 
Navarre  lies  this  night.  But  look,  your  Majesty,  at 
that  other  star  there  over  the  woods.  It  blazes  for 
a  moment ;  and  now,  see — it  falls  ;  it  has  disappeared 
behind  the  palace  !  " 

"  By  the  mother  of  God,"  says  the  King,  redden- 
ing either  with  terror  or  passion,  "  I  have  had  enough 
of  this  gibberish.  Hark  ye,  you  wandering  Jew  !  no 
more  of  these  ugly  portents,  or,  by  St.  Louis,  the 
guardian  of  our  race,  we  will  hold  you  warrant  for 
all  that  may  happen  to  our  person." 

Osman  shrunk  back  from  the  window,  trembling 
with  fright.  He  does  not  wait  for  permission  to 
depart,  but  as  the  King  rises  to  address  some  gentle- 
men he  glides  from  the  gallery. 


The  Last  of  the  Valois.  149 

"If  ever  I  heard  a  voice  hoarse  with  blood,  it  is 
his,"  mutters  the  astrologer,  pointing  to  the  King  as 
he  crept  away.  "  By  the  brightness  of  the  celestial 
bodies,  there  will  be  evil  this  night.  I  will  never 
draw  horoscope  more,  if  to-morrow's  sun  finds  Henry 
of  Valois  alive.  There  is  blood  on  him,  but  he  sees 
it  not.  His  star  has  fallen,  he  beheld  it ;  but  he 
understood  not  the  portent." 

As  Osman  crosses  the  circular  hall  opening  from 
the  gallery  and  leading  to  the  principal  staircase,  he 
meets  the  Comte  d'Auvergne*  conversing  with  a 
Dominican  monk,  whose  sinister  countenance  ex- 
pressed every  evil  passion.  A  crowd  of  attendants 
had  assembled  and  are  listening  to  the  conversation. 

"  Good  father,"  says  M.  d'Auvergne,  addressing 
the  Dominican,  "you  must  not,  at  this  late  hour, 
insist  on  seeing  his  Majesty  ;  he  is  engaged." 

"  But,  indeed,  monseigneur,  I  do  insist  upon  seeing 
him  without  a  moment's  delay,  and  alone.  It  is 
on  a  matter  of  life  and  death."  The  monk's  bold 
words  and  determined  bearing  evidently  impress 
M.  d'Auvergne  in  his  favour. 

"  Are  you  the  bearer  of  any  despatches  for  his 
Majesty?"  he  asks.  "Those  might  be  delivered, 
although  his  Majesty  has  just  retired  and  is  at  this 
moment  in  his  oratory,  busy  with  his  devotions." 

As  he  spoke,  D'Auvergne  scans  him  curiously  ;  the 
monk  perceives  the  look,  draws  his  cowl  closer  over 
his  face,  and  withdraws  from  the  full  glare  of  the 
lights  on  the  staircase. 

"  I  am  the  bearer  of  letters  of  the  greatest  import- 
ance, monseigneur — letters  from  the  President  Har- 
*  See  Note  18. 


i5o  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

lay,  now  a  prisoner  of  the  League  ;  but  I  am  charged 
to  deliver  them  in  person,  and  into  the  hand  of  his 
Majesty  alone.  Nor  is  that  all ;  I  have  a  secret 
communication  to  make,  which  it  behoves  the  King 
to  hear  without  delay.  Good  gentlemen,"  and  he 
faces  round  to  the  courtiers  who  are  gathered  about 
him,  "  I  pray  you,  one  of  you,  go  to  the  King  and 
tell  him  what  I  say." 

"  Impossible,"  replies  the  Count  d'O,  who  came 
from  the  gallery  at  that  moment,  and  hears  the  last 
few  words  ;  "  impossible.  His  Majesty  is  now  alone  ; 
I  have  just  left  him.  He  is  fatigued,  and  desired 
not  to  be  disturbed." 

"  Good  God !  "  cries  the  monk,  clasping  his  hands, 
"  if  I  do  not  see  him  to-night,  I  shall  never  see  him." 

"And  why  not,  I  pray?"  asks  the  Comte 
d'Auvergne.  "  Come  and  sup  with  my  people  to- 
night ;  and  to-morrow,  as  early  as  you  please,  I  will 
take  you  to  his  Majesty.  Follow  me." 

"  I  wash  my  hands  of  all  the  evil  this  delay  will 
cause,"  exclaims  the  monk,  following  him  reluctantly. 
"  On  your  head  be  it,  monseigneur."  They  quitted 
the  hall  together. 

All  this  time  Osman  had  stood  near  watching  them. 
He  had  not  lost  a  syllable  of  the  conversation.  "  Did 
I  not  say  that  there  was  blood  ?  "  he  mutters  half 
aloud  ;  "  is  it  not  true  ?  The  knowledge  of  it  came 
to  me  in  a  vision.  Now  I  have  read  it  also  in  the 
stars.  The  blood  of  the  King  is  on  that  monk.  His 
robes  are  spotted  with  it.  In  his  hand,  while  he 
spoke,  there  was  a  dagger.  None  else  beheld  it ; 
but  I  saw  it,  and  the  point  streamed  with  the  King's 
life-blood.  Woe  !  woe  !  woe  !  Would  that  I  could 


The  Last  of  the  Valois.  151 

speak !  Would  that  they  would  listen !  Before 
many  hours,  death  will  be  within  these  walls.  Alas  ! 
it  is  given  to  me  to  avert  it  if  they  would  but  hear 
le." 

The  astrologer  slowly  follows  the  steps  of  the 
Comte  d'Auvergne  and  the  Dominican,  descending 
the  stairs  after  them.  They  enter  a  suite  of  rooms 
on  the  ground  floor  of  the  palace.  The  monk  had 
now  thrown  back  his  cowl  and  displayed  a  face  yet 
young,  but  seamed  and  wrinkled  with  deep  lines. 
His  eyes  are  dull  and  bloodshot ;  his  thin  hair 
scarcely  shades  his  projecting  forehead.  He  stands 
in  the  centre  of  the  apartment,  silent,  sullen,  and 
preoccupied. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asks  the  Count  sternly, 
turning  towards  him. 

"  Jacques  Clement,"  is  the  short  rejoinder. 

"  You  say  you  are  the  bearer  of  letters  to  the 
King?" 

"  Yes,"  replies  he,  "  from  Monsieur  de  Brienne  and 
the  President  Harlay,  now  both  prisoners  in  the 
Bastille.  There  is  my  passport ;  you  see  it  is  signed 
by  Monsieur  de  Brienne." 

"  Show  me  the  President's  letter,"  says  D'Auvergne ; 
"  his  writing  is  as  familiar  to  me  as  my  own.  If  you 
are  a  spy,  you  will  meet  with  no  mercy  here,"  and  he 
measured  him  from  head  to  foot  with  eyes  full  of 
doubt  and  suspicion. 

The  monk  draws  forth  a  parcel  of  unsealed  letters, 
which  the  Count  reads  and  examines. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  says.  "  These  are  proofs  that  you 
are  a  messenger  from  the  King's  friends.  But  how 
did  you,  carrying  such  dangerous  credentials,  con- 


152  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

trive  to  pass  the  gates  of  Paris  ?  Answer  me  that, 
my  father." 

"  My  habit  protected  me,"  replies  the  monk,  de- 
voutly crossing  himself,  "  our  Blessed  Lady  gave  me 
courage  and  address  to  escape  from  those  Philistines. 
Once  past  the  gates,  I  came  here  in  company  with 
Monsieur  de  la  Guesle's  people." 

"You  say,  then,  that  you  will  answer  with  your 
head  that  two  gates  of  Paris  will  open  to  the  King  if 
he  advances?" 

"  I  swear  before  God  that  this  is  the  truth,"  replies 
the  monk,  again  crossing  himself ;  "  and  my  God  is 
not  that  false  one  worshipped  by  the  Huguenot  dogs 
under  Henry  of  Navarre,  but  the  true  God  of  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church.  Let  the  King  trust  to  his 
loyal  Catholic  subjects,  and  beware  of  the  heretics 
that  are  in  his  council  and  amongst  his  troops."  And 
the  monk  scowls  around.  His  eyes  meet  those  of 
Osman  the  astrologer,  which  are  fixed  on  him  with  the 
intensity  of  a  cat  ready  to  spring.  Jacques  Clement 
trembles.  For  an  instant  his  courage  forsakes  him 
and  he  turns  pale. 

"  Well,  father,"  says  D'Auvergne,  laughing,  "  you 
are  true  to  your  trade — a  steady  Catholic.  We  un- 
derstand; you  can  smell  a  heretic  a  mile  off,  I  '11  be 
sworn." 

The  monk  makes  no  reply,  and  to  avoid  further 
discussion  turns  to  a  table  on  which  supper  is'spread, 
and  sitting  down,  begins  to  eat. 

The  Attorney-General  de  la  Guesle  having  been 
told  of  the  arrival  of  a  mysterious  monk,  enters  the 
room  and  confirms  what  he  had  said  of  their  meeting 
outside  the  gates  of  Paris. 


The  Last  of  the  Valois.  153 

The  Comte  d'Auvergne,  after  scrutinising  Jacques 
Clement  for  some  minutes,  turns  aside  to  Monsieur 
de  la  Guesle,  and  whispers — 

"  I  do  not  know  why,  but  I  have  a  strange  suspicion 
of  that  fellow.  All  he  says  seems  fair  enough  and 
his  papers  are  properly  signed  ;  but  there  is  something 
about  his  dark,  sinister  face  and  surly  answers  that 
alarms  me." 

Osman,  seeing  them  converse  apart,  advances 
eagerly  from  the  bottom  of  the  room,  and  addresses 
them  in  a  low  voice,  "  If  monseigneur  will  only 
listen  to  me,  he  will  not  admit  this  monk  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  his  Majesty.  The  stars,  Count, 
are " 

"Confound  the  stars!  "  interrupts  Monsieur  de  la 
Guesle.  "  Do  you  take  us  for  a  parcel  of  fools  ?  Go 
prate  elsewhere." 

The  noblemen  seat  themselves  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  supper-table.  The  Comte  d'Auvergne,  Monsieur 
de  la  Guesle,  and  other  gentlemen  are  served  by  an 
old  valet  who,  after  pouring  out  the  wine  all  round, 
stands  behind  the  chair  of  his  master,  the  Count. 
His  eyes  are  fixed  on  Jacques  Clement,  who  had 
drawn  forth  from  the  folds  of  his  sleeve  a  large  dag- 
ger with  which  he  cuts  up  his  meat. 

"  May  it  please  monseigneur,"  the  valet  whispers 
into  the  Count's  ear,  "  the  reverend  father  knows  how 
to  travel  in  these  stormy  times.  He  has  not  forgotten 
to  bring  a  goodly  dagger  with  him  ;  though  perhaps 
the  breviary,  being  less  useful,  is  forgotten." 

"  Not  so,  brother,"  answers  the  monk  who,  over- 
hearing his  whisper,  draws  out  a  missal  from  his 
bosom  ;  "  I  never  travel  without  the  one  and  the  other 


154  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

— defences  for  the  body  and  the  soul — whichever 
may  most  need  it." 

But  the  garrulous  old  servant,  once  set  talking,  is 
not  to  be  silenced.  He  begins  a  long  account,  in  a 
low  voice,  addressed  to  the  Count,  of  how  the  monk, 
on  arriving,  had  entertained  him  and  his  fellows  in  the 
courtyard  with  a  history  of  the  death  of  Holofernes 
the  tyrant,  by  the  hands  of  a  Jewish  maiden  Judith, 
the  saviour  of  her  country. 

"A  bloody  tale,  forsooth,"  says  M.  de  la  Guesle, 
eying  the  monk. 

"  Ay,  blood,  blood  !  "  mutters  Osman  who  is  seated 
below  the  salt,  next  the  Comte  d'Auvergne.  "  See 
you  not,  my  lord,"  he  continues,  half  aloud  to  the 
Count,  holding  up  his  hand  warningly,  "  that  this 
monk  is  a  mad  fanatic?  Admit  him  to  no  speech 
with  the  King,  I  entreat  you ;  he  is  mad,  monseign- 
eur." 

"  Oh,"  answers  the  Count,  in  low  voice,  "  I  will 
watch  over  his  Majesty.  As  the  bearer  of  letters  of 
importance  I  cannot  refuse  him  an  audience,  but  I 
will  answer  that  no  mischief  comes  of  the  meeting." 

Soon  after,  supper  being  ended,  the  party  sepa- 
rates. The  monk  is  conducted  to  a  bed  ;  and  Os- 
man, heaving  many  heavy  sighs,  retires  to  the  room 
appropriated  to  him,  where  he  consults  the  stars, 
until  the  dawn  of  day  obliterates  them  and  ends 
his  labour. 

The  next  day  is  the  2d  of  August,  and  the  King, 
who  has  been  informed  of  the  arrival  of  a  monk  with 
letters  over  night,  commands  his  early  attendance  in 
his  bed-chamber.  The  Comte  d'Auvergne  conducts 
Jacques  Clement  into  the  presence  of  Henry,  who 


The  Last  of  the  Valois.  155 

sits  in  an  arm-chair,  only  partially  dressed,  close  to 
the  bed.  As  the  communication  is  to  be  private, 
the  King  signs  to  D'Auvergne,  Clermont,  and  the 
other  attendants  present,  to  retire  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  room ;  then  he  stretches  out  his  hand  to  re- 
ceive the  packet  from  Jacques  Clement,  who  in  pre- 
senting it  bows  his  head,  and  stands  motionless,  his 
arms  crossed  on  his  breast. 

As  Henry's  attention  is  absorbed  and  his  eyes 
are  bent  upon  the  page,  Jacques  Clement  suddenly 
draws  out  the  dagger  he  carried  concealed  in  his 
sleeve,  springs  forward,  and  plunges  it  up  to  the  hilt 
in  the  King's  abdomen. 

"  Help  !  "  groans  the  King,  with  difficulty  pluck- 
ing out  the  weapon  and  flinging  it  on  the  floor. 
"  Help !  the  wretch  has  stabbed  me.  I  am  killed — 
kill  him !  " 

D'Auvergne  rushes  forward.  The  pages  and  gentle- 
men in  attendance,  the  guards  outside,  and  Monsieur 
de  la  Guesle,  who  is  waiting  for  an  audience,  all 
burst  into  the  room. 

The  King  is  lying  back  in  the  arm-chair ;  a  pool 
of  blood  stains  the  floor  from  a  deep  wound  ;  Jacques 
Clement  still  stands  immovable  before  him.  Swords 
flash  in  the  air ;  some  fly  to  support  the  dying 
monarch,  some  to  raise  an  alarm  over  the  palace  ; 
others,  transported  with  fury,  fall  upon  the  monk, 
who  offers  no  resistance.  He  is  speedily  despatched. 
Osman,  hearing  the  uproar,  enters.  "What !  "  cries 
he,  "  is  the  King  dead  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  is  the  reply. 

"Who  did  it?" 

"Jacques  Clement." 


156  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Sainte  Marie  !  "  groans  the  astrologer,  wringing 
his  hands,  "if  you  had  listened  to  me  this  would 
never  have  happened.  Did  I  not  say  there  was 
blood  on  that  monk  ?  Did  I  not  say  that  the  star  of 
the  House  of  Valois  had  fallen  ?  Alas !  alas  !  If 
you  had  but  listened  !  " 

At  this  moment  M.  d'O  and  the  Comte  d'Auvergne 
leave  the  King's  room  to  send  for  a  surgeon. 

"  Why  did  you  kill  the  assassin  ?  We  might  have 
tortured  him,  and  discovered  his  accomplices,"  says 
M.  d'O,  while  they  await  the  messenger  whom  they 
had  despatched. 

"  I  did  not  kill  him,"  answered  the  Comte  d'Au- 
vergne. "The  King  was  seated  when  he  entered, 
and,  taking  the  wretch's  papers  in  his  hands,  was 
busy  reading  them.  M.  Clermont  and  I  were  pres- 
ent, but  had  retired  a  little  to  leave  his  Majesty 
more  at  liberty.  As  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  was 
addressing  the  monk,  the  traitor  drew  a  dagger  from 
his  sleeve  and  plunged  it  into  the  King's  stomach. 
The  King  cried  out,  "  Kill  him — he  has  killed  me !  " 
and,  drawing  forth  the  dagger  from  the  wound,  gave 
two  or  three  cuts  at  the  assassin,  and  then  fell.  We 
rushed  to  his  aid,  and  smote  the  fellow,  who  was  un- 
armed, right  and  left.  At  the  noise,  the  doors  burst 
open,  and  the  gentlemen,  and  pages  in  their  rage 
finished  him  with  a  hundred  blows.  Seeing  that  he 
was  dead,  I  ordered  him  to  be  stripped  and  thrown 
out  of  the  window,  in  order  to  be  recognised  if 
possible." 

"What  does  it  matter  who  recognises  him?"  an- 
swers M.  d'O.  "  Have  the  papers  that  he  showed  the 
King  disappeared  also  ?  " 


The  Last  of  the  Valois.  1 5  7 

Before  the  Count  could  reply  the  surgeon  appears. 
He  desires  that  every  one  shall  be  turned  out  of  the 
King's  bedroom  whilst  he  examines  him.  He  pro- 
nounces the  wound  mortal ;  the  dagger  was  poisoned. 
Henry,  after  great  anguish,  expires  in  a  few  hours. 
The  letters  were  forgeries.  The  body  of  Jacques 
Clement,  having  first  been  drawn  by  four  horses 
through  the  streets  of  Saint-Cloud,  is  burned  by  the 
common  hangman.  He  is  much  lauded,  however, 
at  Rome,  where  Sixtus  V.  reigns  as  Pontiff ;  at 
Paris  his  effigy  is  placed  upon  the  altars  beside  the 
Host. 

Meanwhile  the  King  of  Navarre  is  within  his 
quarters  at  Meudon.  His  minister  Sully  lodges  a 
little  way  down  the  hill,  in  the  house  of  a  man  called 
Sauvat.  Sully  is  just  sitting  down  to  supper,  when 
his  secretary  enters  and  desires  him  to  go  instantly 
to  his  master. 

Henry  of  Navarre  tells  him  that  an  express  has 
arrived  from  Saint-Cloud,  and  that  the  King  is  al- 
ready dead,  or  dying.  "  Sully,"  he  says,  "  for  what 
I  know,  I  may  be  at  this  very  instance  King  of 
France.  Yet,  who  will  support  me  ?  Half  my  army 
will  desert  if  Henry  be  really  dead.  Not  a  prince 
of  the  blood — not  a  minister  will  stand  by  me.  I 
am  here,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  an  enemy's 
country,  with  but  a  handful  of  followers.  What  is 
to  be  done?  " 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Sire,  is  my  advice,"  answers 
Sully.  "  If  you  are,  indeed,  now  King  of  France, 
remain  with  such  as  are  faithful  to  you.  A  mon- 
arch should  never  fly.  But  let  us  go  to  Saint-Cloud 
and  hear  the  truth." 


158  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"That  is  just  what  I  desire,"  answers  Henry. 
"  We  will  start  as  soon  as  our  horses  are  saddled." 

As  they  enter  the  gates  of  Saint-Cloud,  a  man 
rushes  by  them,  shouting,  "  The  King  is  dead — the 
King  is  dead!"  Henry  reins  up  his  horse.  The 
Swiss  Guard,  posted  round  the  chateau,  perceive 
him.  They  throw  down  their  arms  and  cast  them- 
selves at  his  feet.  "  Sire,"  they  cry,  "  now  you  are 
our  King  and  master,  do  not  forsake  us."  Biron, 
the  Due  de  Bellegarde,  the  Comte  d'O.  M.  de 
Chateauvieux,  and  De  Dampierre  come  up  ;  they  all 
warmly  salute  Henry  as  their  sovereign. 

But  the  bonfires  that  already  blaze  in  the  streets 
of  Paris  at  the  news  of  the  death  of  the  King,  warn 
Henry  of  Navarre  that  he  must  fight  as  many  battles 
to  gain  the  Crown,  as  he  has  already  done  to  secure 
his  personal  liberty. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DON  JUAN. 

THE  wars  of  the  League  rage  fiercer  than  ever. 
By  the    death  of  the  last  Valois,  Henry  III., 
Henry  IV.,  a  Bourbon,  is  King  of  France.*     But  he 
is  only  acknowledged  by  his  Protestant  subjects. 
To  the  Catholics  he  is  but  a  rebel,  and  still  only 
King  of  Navarre.     The  Due  de  Mayenne  (a  Guise, 
brother  of  the  Balafre),  subsidised  with  money  and 
troops  by  Spain,  is  the  orthodox  pretender  to  the 
*  See  Note  19. 


Don  Juan.  159 

throne.  The  capital,  Paris,  is  with  him.  The  two 
Henries,  reconciled  after  the  death  of  Catherine  de' 
Medici,  encamped  with  their  respective  forces  at 
Saint-Cloud,  were  about  to  invest  the  city.  But  now 
Henry  III.  is  dead.  His  successor,  Henry  of  Na- 
varre, weakened  in  influence,  troops,  and  money,  is 
forced  to  raise  the  siege  and  retire.  Henry  IV.  had 
at  this  time  but  3,000  troops,  while  the  army  of 
Mayenne  numbered  32,000  men.  Then  came  help 
from  England.  The  victory  of  Ivry  was  gained, 
Henry  again  invested  Paris  and  encamped  on  the 
heights  of  Montmartre.  It  was  now  he  uttered  that 
characteristic  mot : — "  I  am  like  the  true  mother  in 
the  judgment  of  Solomon, — I  would  rather  not  have 
Paris  at  all  than  see  it  torn  to  pieces." 

At  this  time  the  fortune  of  war  called  the  King 
in  many  places.  He  loved  an  adventurous  life. 
Brave  to  a  fault,  he  rode  hither  and  thither  like  a 
knight-errant,  regardless  of  his  personal  safety, 
accompanied  only  by  a  few  attendants. 

Although  a  warrior  and  a  statesman,  Henry  was 
a  true  child  of  the  mountains.  Born  under  the 
shadows  of  the  Pyrenees,  he  would  as  soon  encamp 
under  a  hedge  as  lie  on  a  bed  of  down  ;  would  rather 
eat  dried  ham  spiced  with  garlic  than  dine  sumptu- 
ously at  Jarnet's  Palace,  at  the  Marais  or  at  "  Le 
Petit  More,"  the  polite  traiteur  of  that  day  ;  would 
quaff  the  petit  cru  of  his  native  grape  with  more 
relish  than  the  costliest  wines  from  the  vineyards  of 
Champagne  or  Bordeaux.  Henry  was  not  born 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Garonne,  but  a  more  thor- 
ough Gascon  never  lived, — his  hand  upon  his  sword, 
his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  his  gun  slung  across  his  shoul- 


160  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

der,  the  first  in  assault,  the  last  in  retreat,  ready  to 
slay  the  wild  boar  of  his  native  forests,  or  lute  in 
hand  to  twang  a  roundelay  in  honour  of  the  first 
Dulcinea  he  encountered.  Boastful,  fearless,  capri- 
cious ;  his  versatility  of  accomplishments  suited  the 
changing  aspects  of  the  times.  He  was  plain  of 
speech,  rough  in  manner — with  a  quaint  jest  alike 
for  friend  or  foe  ;  irregular  in  his  habits,  eating  at  no 
stated  times,  but  when  hungry  voraciously  devour- 
ing everything  that  pleased  him,  especially  fruit  and 
oysters;  negligent,  not  to  say  dirty,  in  his  person, 
and  smelling  strong  of  garlic.  A  man  who  called  a 
spade  a  spade,  swore  like  a  trooper,  and  hated  the 
parade  of  courts  ;  was  constant  in  friendship,  fickle 
in  love,  promised  everything  freely,  especially  mar- 
riage, to  any  beauty  who  caught  his  eye ;  a  boon 
companion  among  men,  a  libertine  with  women,  a 
story-teller,  cynical  in  his  careless  epicureanism,  and 
so  profound  a  believer  in  "  the  way  of  fate,"  that 
reckless  of  the  morrow  he  extracted  all  things  from 
the  passing  hour. 

He  is  now  thirty-three  years  old,  of  middle  height, 
broad-shouldered,  and  coarsely  made.  His  swarthy 
skin  is  darkened  by  constant  exposure ;  he  looks 
battered,  wrinkled,  and  dissipated.  His  long  nose 
overhangs  his  grisly  moustache,  and  a  mocking  ex- 
pression lurks  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  The  fire 
of  his  eyes  isunquenched,  and  the  habit  of  command 
is  stamped  on  every  motion. 

He  is  with  his  army  at  Mantes.  It  is  evening;  he 
is  surrounded  by  a  few  friends,  and  from  talk  of  war 
the  conversation  turns  to  women.  The  Due  de 
Bellegarde,  captain  of  light  horse,  the  close  friend 


HENRY  IV. 


Don  Juan.  161 

and  constant  companion  of  the  King,  sits  beside 
him.  He  has  a  noble  presence,  is  supple,  graceful, 
gentle  in  speech  and  generous  in  nature. 

Bellegarde  speaks  boastingly  of  the  beauty  of  a 
certain  lady  whom  he  is  engaged  to  marry,  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees,  daughter  of  the  Marquis  d'Estrees. 

"  Cap  de  Dieu  !  "  exclaims  Henry,  after  listening 
to  Bellegarde  in  silence ;  "  I  have  heard  of  the  lady, 
one  of  the  daughters  of  our  brave  general  of  artillery, 
Antoine  d'Estrees;  but  I  will  back  my  bewitching 
Abbess  of  Montmartre,  Marie  de  Beauvilliers,  against 
your  Gabrielle." 

"  Not  if  your  Majesty  saw  her,  believe  me,"  replies 
Bellegarde,  warmly. 

"  You  are  a  boaster,  Bellegarde.  You  dare  not 
produce  your  paragon." 

"  On  the  contrary,  Sire,  I  only  desire  that  Made- 
moiselle d'Estrees  should  be  seen,  for  then  alone 
she  can  be  appreciated." 

"  Say  you  so,  Bellegarde?  That  is  fair;  will  you 
bet  a  thousand  crowns  on  Gabrielle  against  Marie?  " 

"  I  accept,  Sire  ;  but  how  can  we  decide  !  " 

"  You  see  the  lady.  It  is  easily  managed.  Do 
you  visit  her  often  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty  seemingly  forgets  I  am  engaged 
to  marry  her." 

"  I  understand.  Now,  Bellegarde,  I  forbid  you, 
as  your  sovereign  and  master,  to  see  this  fair  lady, 
except  in  my  company.  Par  Dieu !  I  will  refuse 
you  leave  of  absence." 

Bellegarde's  heart  misgave  him.  The  King's 
vehemence  alarms  him.  He  saw  too  late  the  mis- 
take that  he  has  made. 


VOL.  I.— II 


1 62  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Now,  Bellegarde,  don't  look  like  a  doctor  of  the 
Sorbonne  in  a  fix;  Mademoiselle  d'Estrees  will  not 
object  if  I  go  in  your  company  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty  must  consider  that  I  have  no  ex- 
cuse for  introducing  you,"  replies  he,  with  some 
hesitation.  "  Besides,  consider,  Sire,  the  roads  are 
unsafe  and  skirmishers  are  abroad." 

"  Tut !  tut !  man  ;  when  did  I  ever  care  for  that 
when  a  fair  lady  was  in  the  way  ?  I  insist  upon  go- 
ing, or  you  shall  not  either.  Both  or  none.  Listen 
how  it  shall  be  managed.  I  will  disguise  myself 
as — well,  let  me  see — a  Spaniard  ;  no  one  will 
suspect  me  in  that  character.  You  shall  introduce 
me  as  an  Hidalgo,  Don  Juan,  we  will  say";  and 
a  wicked  leer  lights  up  his  countenance.  "  Don 
Juan,  your  prisoner, — taken  in  a  mMce,  now  on 
parole  ;  and  my  poor  Chicot  *  shall  go  with  us,  too, 
for  company." 

Gabrielle  was  then  living  at  the  paternal  Castle  of 
Cceuvres,  which  stood  on  a  wooded  height  between 
Soissons  and  Laon,  with  her  father  and  her  sisters. 
She  was  passionately  attached  to  the  seductive  Belle- 
garde,  and  anticipated  their  speedy  union  with  all 
imaginable  happiness. 

One  evening,  while  she  was  indulging  in  those 
agreeable  musings  proper  to  the  state  called  "  being 
in  love,"  Bellegarde  was  abruptly  announced.  He 
was  accompanied  by  two  gentlemen :  one,  short  in 
stature,  with  a  comical  expression  of  countenance, 
was  introduced  as  Monsieur  Chicot ;  the  other,  by 
name  "  Don  Juan,"  neither  tall  nor  short,  but  with 
very  broad  shoulders,  had  greyish  hair,  highly  col- 
*  See  Note  20. 


Don  Juan.  163 

cured  cheeks,  a  swarthy  skin,  and  was  remarkable 
for  a  prominent  nose  and  exceedingly  audacious 
eyes. 

Gabrielle  rose  in  haste  and  was  about  to  fling  her 
arms  round  Bellegarde,  but,  on  seeing  his  two  com- 
panions, she  drew  back,  welcoming  them  all  with  a 
more  formal  courtesy. 

Gabrielle  was  eighteen,  tall,  slim,  and  singularly 
graceful.  The  severity  of  her  aquiline  features  was 
relieved  by  the  bluest  eyes  and  a  most  delicate  pink 
and  white  complexion  ;  webs  of  auburn  hair  flowed 
over  her  shoulders.  She  cast  a  curious  glance  at 
her  lover's  singular  companions ;  she  was  surprised 
and  vexed  that  Bellegarde  had  not  come  alone,  and 
to  find  him  cold  and  reserved.  However,  any  short- 
comings on  his  part  were  amply  made  up  by  the 
cordial  accolade  of  the  Spanish  Don,  who  extolled 
her  beauty  to  her  face,  and,  without  asking  permis- 
sion, kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

Gabrielle's  delicacy  was  hurt  at  this  freedom  ;  she 
reproached  herself  for  the  frankness  with  which  she 
had  received  .strangers,  believing  them  to  be  friends 
of  her  lover.  Casting  a  helpless  glance  at  him,  she 
looked  down,  blushed  and  retreated  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  room,  where  she  seated  herself. 

"  Pray,  madame,  excuse  our  friend,"  said  Chicot, 
seeing  the  confusion  of  Gabrielle  at  such  unexpected 
familiarity  ;  "  he  is  a  Spaniard,  only  newly  arrived 
in  France  ;  he  is  quite  unacquainted  with  the  usages 
of  the  country." 

"  By  the  mass  !  "  cried  Bellegarde,  evidently  ill  at 
ease,  and  placing  himself  in  front  of  his  love, 
"  Spaniard,  indeed  !  I,  for  my  part,  know  no  country 


164  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

in  the  world  where  gentlemen  are  permitted,  thus 
uninvited,  to  salute  the  ladies — at  least,  in  civilised 
latitudes.  It  is  well  Mademoiselle's  father  was  not 
present." 

His  annoyance  was,  however,  quite  lost  on  the 
Don,  who,  his  eyes  fixed  in  bold  admiration  on 
Gabrielle,  did  not  heed  it. 

"  Bellegarde,':  said  Gabrielle,  blushing  to  her  fore- 
head, seeing  his  deeply-offended  look,  "  excuse  this 
stranger,  I  entreat,  for  my  sake  ;  I  am  sure  he  meant 
no  offence.  Let  not  the  joy  I  feel,at  seeing  you  be 
overcast  by  this  little  occurrence."  And  she  rose,  ad- 
vanced to  where  he  stood,  looked  fondly  at  him,  and 
took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers. 

This  appeal  was  enough.  Bellegarde,  though 
anxious,  was  no  longer  angry,  and,  upon  Gabrielle's 
invitation,  the  party  seated  themselves,  Gabrielle 
placing  herself  beside  Bellegarde. 

"  This  gentleman,  madame,"  said  Chicot,  turning 
towards  Gabrielle,  "  whose  admiration  of  you  has  led 
him  to  offend,  is  our  prisoner ;  he  surrendered  to  us 
yesterday  in  the  mttc'e  at  Marly,  and,  his  ransom  paid, 
to-morrow  morning  he  will  start  to  join  the  army  of 
the  Duke  of  Parma.  Though  somewhat  hot-headed 
and  wilful  he  is  an  excellent  soldier ;  he  knows  how 
to  behave  in  the  battle-field,  if  his  manners  are  other- 
wise too  free,"  and  Chicot  turned  round  his  head 
and  winked  at  Don  Juan,  who  laughed. 

"At  least,  gentlemen,  now  you  are  here,"  said 
Gabrielle,  "  by  whatever  chance — and  the  chance 
must  be  good  that  brings  you  to  me  "(and  her  blue 
eyes  turned  towards  Bellegarde) — "you  will  partake 
of  some  refreshment.  I  beg  you  to  do  so  in  the 


Don  Juan.  165 

name  of  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde,  my  affianced  hus- 
band, my  father  being  absent." 

"  Fair  lady,"  said  the  Spaniard,  breaking  silence 
for  the  first  time,  and  speaking  in  excellent  French, 
"  I  never  before  rejoiced  so  much  in  being  able  to 
understand  the  French  tongue  as  spoken  by  your 
dulcet  voice  ;  this  is  the  happiest  moment  of  my 
life,  for  it  has  introduced  me  to  the  fairest  of  your 
sex.  I  repeat  it  deliberately — the  fairest  of  your 
sex  ;  "  and  he  looked  significantly  at  Bellegarde.  "  I 
accept  your  invitation,  readily.  Were  I  fortunate 
enough  to  be  your  prisoner  instead  of  the  Captain's, 
my  ransom  would  never  be  paid,  I  warrant." 

"Cap  de  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  Chicot,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear,  "  the  Spanish  Dons  well  merit  their 
reputation  for  gallantry,  but  our  friend  here,  Don 
Juan,  outdoes  them  all,  and,  indeed,  every  one  of 
his  nation." 

"  Madame,"  broke  in  the  Spaniard,  very  red  in 
the  face  and  speaking  with  great  vehemence,  not 
appearing  to  hear  this  remark,  and  still  addressing 
Gabrielle,  on  whom  his  eyes  were  riveted,  "  I  declare 
if  any  one,  be  he  noble  or  villein,  knight  or  king, 
dare  to  say  that  any  woman  under  God's  sun  sur- 
passes you  in  beauty  or  grace,  I  declare  him  to  be 
false  and  disloyal,  and  with  fitting  opportunity  I 
will  prove,  in  more  than  words,  that  he  lies  to  the 
teeth." 

"  Come,  come,  my  good  friend,"  interrupted  Belle- 
garde,  much  discomposed,  "  do  not,  I  beseech  you, 
go  into  these  heroics ;  you  will  alarm  this  lady.  If 
you  heat  yourself  in  this  way,  the  night  air  will  give 
you  cold.  Besides,  remember,  Senor,  this  lady, 


1 66  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Mademoiselle  d'Estrees,  is  my  affianced  bride,  and 
that  certain  conditions  were  made  between  us  before 
I  introduced  you,  which  conditions  you  swore  to  ob- 
serve "  ;  and  Bellegarde  looked  reproachfully  at  him. 

Don  Juan  felt  the  implied  reproof,  and,  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  entered,  moved  his  eyes  to 
some  other  object  than  the  smiling  face  of  Gabrielle. 

Her  sisters  now  joined  them.  Although  they 
much  resembled  her,  and  would  have  been  comely 
in  any  other  company,  Gabrielle  so  far  exceeded 
them  as  to  throw  them  altogether  into  the  shade. 
They  were  both  immediately  saluted  with  nearly 
equal  warmth  by  the  Spanish  Don,  who  evidently 
would  not  reform  his  manners  in  this  particular. 
Like  Gabrielle,  they  were  quite  abashed  and  re- 
treated to  the  farther  side  of  the  room. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  ladies,"  said  Chicot,  advancing 
towards  them,  "  if  you  were  to  see  our  friend,  Don 
Juan,  in  a  justaucorps  of  satin  and  glittering  with 
gold  and  precious  stones,  with  a  white  panache  in 
his  velvet  cap,  you  would  not  think  he  looked  so 
much  amiss.  But  are  you  going  to  give  us  nothing 
to  eat  ?  What  has  the  Don  done  that  he  is  to  be 
starved  ?  Though  he  be  a  Spaniard,  and  serves 
against  Henry  of  Navarre,  he  is  a  Christian,  and  has 
a  stomach  like  any  other." 

On  this  hint  the  whole  party  adjourned  to  the 
eating-room.  Gabrielle  carefully  avoided  the  Don 
and  kept  close  to  Bellegarde,  who  looked  the  picture 
of  misery.  Her  sisters  clung  to  her,  Chicot  was 
bursting  with  ill-suppressed  laughter,  and  the  Don 
was  fully  occupied  in  endeavouring  to  place  himself 
beside  Gabrielle,  on  whom  his  eyes  were  again 


Don  Juan.  167 

intently  fixed.  At  table,  spite  of  Bellegarde's  ma- 
noeuvres, he  contrived  to  place  himself  beside  her. 
He  eat  and  drank  voraciously  ;  perpetually  proposed 
toasts  in  Gabrielle's  honour,  and  confused  her  to 
such  a  degree,  that  she  heartily  repented  having 
invited  him  to  remain,  particularly  as  the  annoyance 
of  Bellegarde  did  not  escape  her.  In  this  state  of 
general  misunderstanding,  the  merry  Chicot  again 
came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  the  King  of  France 
and  Navarre  !  "  cried  he.  "  Come,  Don  Juan,  forget 
your  politics  and  join  us :  here 's  prosperity  and 
success  to  our  gallant  Henry — long  may  he  live  !  " 

"  This  is  a  toast  we  must  drink  standing  and  in 
chorus,"  said  Bellegarde,  rising. 

The  Spaniard  smiled. 

"  But  why,"  observed  Gabrielle,  "  does  Don  Juan 
bear  arms  against  the  King  of  France  if  he  is  his 
partisan?  " 

"  Fair  lady,  your  remark  is  just,"  replied  the  Don, 
"  but  the  fortune  of  war  drives  a  soldier  into  many 
accidents ;  however,  I  only  wish  all  France  was  as 
much  the  King's  friend  as  I  am." 

Chicot  now  took  up  a  lute  which  lay  near,  tried 
the  strings,  and  in  a  somewhat  cracked  voice  sang 
the  following  song,  wagging  his  head  and  winking 
at  the  Spaniard  as  he  did  so : — 

"  Vive  Henri  Quatre, 
Vive  ce  roi  vaillant ; 
Ce  diable  a  quatre, 
A  le  triple  talent 
De  boire  et  de  battre 
Et  d'etre  vert  galant." 


1 68  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Long  live  the  King  !  Vive  Henri  Quatre  !  " 
was  drunk,  with  all  the  honours,  in  a  chorus  of 
applause.  The  Spaniard  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eye, 
and  sat  down  without  speaking. 

"  Cap  de  Dieu  !  "  cried  Chicot,  "  the  right  cause 
will  triumph  at  last." 

"Yes,"  replied  Bellegarde,  "sooner  or  later  we 
shall  see  our  brave  King  enter  Paris  and  his  noble 
palace  of  the  Louvre  in  state  ;  but  meanwhile  he 
must  not  fool  away  his  time  in  follies  and  amours 
while  the  League  is  in  strength." 

"  There  you  speak  truth,"  said  Chicot  ;  "  he  is  too 
much  given  to  such  games ;  he  's  a  very  Sardanapalus : 
and,"  continued  he,  squinting  at  the  Don  with  a  most 
comical  expression,  "  if  report  speak  true,  at  this  very 
moment  his  Majesty  is  off  on  some  adventure  touch- 
ing the  rival  beauty  of  certain  ladies,  to  the  manifest 
neglect  of  his  Crown  and  the  ruin  of  his  affairs." 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Gabrielle,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  enthusiasm,  "  if  some  second  Agnes  Sorel 
would  but  appear,  and,  making  like  her  a  noble  use 
of  the  King's  love  and  her  influence,  incite  him  to 
conquer  himself,  to  forsake  all  follies,  and  to  devote 
his  great  talents  in  fighting  heart  and  soul  against 
the  rebels  and  the  League  !  " 

"  Alas  !  "  sighed  Don  Juan,  "  those  were  the  early 
ages ;  such  love  as  that  is  not  to  be  found  now — it 
is  a  dream,  a  fantasy.  Henry  will  find  no  Agnes 
Sorel  in  these  later  days." 

"Say  not  so,  noble  Don,"  replied  Gabrielle;  "I 
for  my  part  adore  the  King — I  long  to  know  him." 

The  Spaniard's  eyes  flashed,  and  Bellegarde 
started  visibly. 


Don  Juan.  169 

"  Love,"  continued  Gabrielle,  flushing  with  excite- 
ment, "  love  is  of  all  times  and  of  all  seasons.  True 
love  is  immortal.  But  I  allow  that  it  is  rare,  though 
not  impossible,  to  excite  such  a  passion." 

"  If  it  is  a  science  to  be  learnt,  will  you  teach  me, 
fair  lady  ?  "  asked  the  Spaniard  tenderly. 

At  this  turn  in  the  conversation  Bellegarde  again 
became  painfully  agitated,  and  the  subject  dropped. 
The  Don  now  addressed  his  conversation  to  the 
sisters  of  Gabrielle,  and  at  their  request  took  up  the 
lute  and  sang  an  improvised  song  with  considerable 
taste,  in  a  fine  manly  voice,  which  gained  for  him 
loud  applauses  all  around.  The  words  were  these : 

"  Charmante  Gabrielle, 
Perce  de  mille  dards, 
Quand  la  gloire  m'appelle 
A  la  suite  de  Mars, 
Cruelle  de'partie. 
Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie 
Ou  sans  amour  ? " 

Gabrielle  looked,  perhaps,  a  trifle  too  much 
pleased  at  the  somewhat  free  admiration  expressed 
in  these  verses,  and  spite  of  Bellegarde,  approached 
the  Don  to  thank  him  after  he  had  finished. 

"  Lady,  did  my  song  please  you  ?  "  said  he  softly, 
trying  to  kiss  her  hand.  "  If  it  had  any  merit  you 
inspired  me." 

"Yes,"  replied  she  musingly.  "You  wished  just 
now  you  were  my  prisoner.  Had  you  been,  I 
should  long  ago  have  freed  you  if  you  had  sung  to 
me  like  that,  I  am  sure." 

"  And  why  ?  "  asked  he. 

"Because  you  have  something   in   your  voice  I 


I  70  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

should  have  feared  to  hear  too  often,"  said  she  in  a 
low  voice,  lest  Bellegarde  should  hear  her. 

"Then  in  that  case  I  would  always  have  remained 
your  voluntary  captive,  ma  belle." 

How  long  this  conversation  might  have  continued 
authorities  do  not  state  ;  but  Bellegarde,  now  really 
displeased,  approached  the  whispering  pair,  giving 
an  indignant  glance  at  Gabrielle  and  a  look  full  of 
reproach  at  the  Don. 

"  Come,  come,  Don  Juan  !  "  said  he.  "  It  is  time  to 
go.  Where  are  our  horses?  The  day  wears  on,  we 
shall  scarce  reach  the  camp  ere  sundown." 

"  Venire  Saint  Gris  !  "  said  the  Spaniard,  starting, 
"there  is  surely  no  need  for  such  haste." 

"Your  promise,"  muttered  Bellegarde  in  his  ear. 

"  Confound  you,  Bellegarde  !  You  have  introduced 
me  into  paradise,  and  now  you  drag  me  away  just 
when  the  breath  of  heaven  is  warming  me."  Don 
Juan  looked  broken-hearted  at  being  obliged  to 
leave,  and  cast  the  most  loving  glances  towards 
Gabrielle  and  her  handsome  sisters. 

"  I  opine  we  ought  never  to  have  come  at  all," 
said  Chicot,  winking  violently  and  looking  at  Ga- 
brielle, who  with  downcast  eyes  evidently  regretted 
the  necessity  of  the  Don's  departure. 

"  Mere  de  Dieu  /"  muttered  the  latter  to  Belle- 
garde,  "  you  are  too  hard  thus  to  bind  me  to  my 
cursed  promise." 

"  Gabrielle,"  said  Bellegarde,  drawing  her  aside, 
and  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  "  one  kiss  ere  I  go. 
You  are  my  beloved — my  other  self,  the  soul  of  my 
soul.  Adieu  !  This  has  been  a  miserable  meeting. 
You  have  grieved  me,  love  :  but  perhaps  it  is  my 


Don  Juan.  171 

own  fault.  I  ought  to  have  come  alone.  That 
Spaniard  is  disgusting  " — Gabrielle  turned  her  head 
away — "  But  I  will  soon  return.  In  the  meantime, 
a  caution  in  your  ear.  If  this  same  Don  Juan  comes 
again  during  my  absence  to  pay  you  a  second  visit, 
send  him  off  I  charge  you,  by  the  love  I  know  you 
bear  me.  Give  him  his  conge  without  ceremony ; 
hold  no  parley,  I  entreat  you  ;  he  is  a  sad  good-for- 
nothing,  and  would  come  with  no  good  intentions. 

I  could  tell  you  more.  He  is ,  but  next  time 

you  shall  hear  all.  Till  then,  adieu  !  " 

"  I  will  obey  you,  Bellegarde,"  replied  Gabrielle 
somewhat  coldly;  "but  the  Spaniard  seems  to  me 
an  honest  gentleman,  and  looks  born  to  command." 

The  whole  party  then  proceeded  to  the  courtyard, 
where  the  three  horses  were  waiting. 

"  Adieu,  most  adorable  Gabrielle !  "  cried  the  Span- 
iard, vaulting  first  into  the  saddle.  "  Would  to  heaven 
I  had  never  set  eyes  on  you,  or  that,  having  seen 
you,  I  might  gaze  to  eternity  on  that  heavenly  face." 

"  Well,"  said  Bellegarde  gaily,  for  his  spirits  rose 
as  he  saw  the  Spaniard  ready  to  depart,  "  you  need 
only  wait  until  peace  be  made,  and  then  I  will  present 
you  at  Court,  Don  Juan,  where  Madame  la  Duchesse 
de  Bellegarde,  otherwise  La  Belle  Gabrielle,  will 
shine  fairest  of  the  fair." 

"  You  are  not  married  yet,  Duke,  however,"  re- 
joined the  Spaniard,  looking  back,  "  and  remember, 
you  must  first  have  his  Majesty's  leave  and  licence 
— not  always  to  be  got.  Ha,  ha,  my  friend,  I  have 
you  there  !  "  laughed  the  Don.  "Adieu,  then,  once 
more,  most  beautiful  ladies,  adieu  to  you  all !  Belle- 
garde,  you  have  gained  your  bet." 


i  72  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

CHARMANTE  GABRIELLE. 

AFTER  this  meeting  Don  Juan  soon  contrived 
to  return,  and  the  lady,  forgetful  of  her  lover's 
advice,  received  him.  This  was  sufficient  encour- 
agement for  so  audacious  a  cavalier,  and  an  intimacy 
sprang  up  between  them  ending  in  a  confession  of 
his  being  the  King.  Gabrielle  was  charmed,  for  she 
had  always  been  his  devoted  partisan.  What  at  first 
appeared  bold  and  free  in  his  manner  she  now 
ascribed  to  a  proper  sense  of  his  own  rank,  born  as  he 
was  to  command  and  to*be  obeyed.  Their  romantic 
introduction  and  the  disguise  he  had  condescended 
to  assume  on  that  occasion  captivated  her  imagina- 
tion almost  as  much  as  his  unbounded  admiration  of 
her  person  flattered  her  vanity.  Henry,  too,  was  a 
fit  subject  for  devoted  loyalty  at  that  time,  closely 
beset  as  he  was  by  the  troops  of  the  League,  unable 
to  enter  Paris,  and  only  maintaining  his  ground  by 
prodigies  of  valour  and  the  most  heroic  persever- 
ance. 

Should  she,  then,  be  unkind,  and  repulse  him, 
when  he  vowed  to  her,  on  his  knees,  that  his  only 
happy  moments  were  spent  in  her  society  ?  The 
image  of  Bellegarde  grew  fainter  and  fainter ;  their 
meetings  became  colder  and  more  unsatisfactory. 
He  reproached  her  for  her  unbecoming  encourage- 
ment of  a  libertine  monarch  ;  Gabrielle  defended 
herself  by  declaring  that  her  heart  was  her  own,  and 
that  she  might  bestow  it  where  she  thought  proper. 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  173 

As  yet,  however,  there  had  been  no  formal  rupture 
between  them.  Bellegarde  loved  the  fascinating 
girl  too  fondly  to  renounce  her  lightly  ;  and  she  her- 
self, as  yet  undecided,  hesitated  before  resigning  a 
man  whose  attachment  was  honourable  and  legiti- 
mate, and  whose  birth  and  position  were  brilliant, 
to  receive  the  dubious  addresses  of  a  married  mon- 
arch. True,  the  shameful  excesses  of  Marguerite  de 
Valois,  his  Queen,  excused  and  almost  exonerated 
the  King;  Henry  urged  this  circumstance  with 
passionate  eloquence,  promising  Gabrielle,  spite  of 
state  reasons,  to  marry  her  as  soon  as,  settled  on 
the  throne,  he  had  leisure  legally  to  prove  the  scan- 
dalous conduct  of  his  wife  and  to  obtain  a  papal 
divorce.  This,  to  a  vain  and  beautiful  woman 
like  Gabrielle,  was  a  telling  argument. 

Still,  Gabrielle  had  not  broken  with  Bellegarde ; 
she  delighted  to  irritate  the  passion  of  the  King  by 
yet  professing  some  love  for  her  old  admirer.  At 
times  she  refused  to  see  Henry  at  all,  and  actually 
went  on  a  visit  to  her  aunt,  Madame  de  Sourdis,  with- 
out even  bidding  him  adieu.  This  coquetry  made 
the  King  desperate.  He  was  so  overcome  at  her 
sudden  departure,  that  he  was  ready,  according  to  his 
habit,  to  promise  anything  she  asked.  The  difficulty 
was  how  to  reach  her,  for  he  must  start  from  Mantes, 
at  the  gravest  risk,  passing  through  two  outposts  and 
seven  leagues  of  open  country  occupied  by  the 
League.  But  now  he  was  wrought  up  to  such  a  pass 
that  he  was  ready  to  sacrifice  his  Crown  or  his  head 
to  win  her.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  he  ascertained 
that  Gabrielle  had  returned  to  Cceuvres  he  swore 
a  solemn  oath  to  see  her  or  die.  The  country  was 


174  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

covered  with  troops ;  alone  he  dared  not  venture; 
with  attendants  he  compromised  his  beloved.  Such 
obstacles  were  maddening.  At  last  he  decided  to 
set  forth  on  horseback,  accompanied  only  by  a  few 
devoted  followers.  With  this  escort  he  rode  four 
leagues  through  the  most  dangerous  part  of  the 
route,  then  left  them  at  a  certain  spot  to  await  his 
return.  Towards  Coeuvres  he  wandered  on  alone 
until  he  found  a  roadside  house.  There  he  offered 
a  peasant  some  gold  pieces  to  lend  him  a  suit  of 
clothes,  in  order,  as  he  told  the  man,  the  more  safely 
to  deliver  some  letters  of  importance  to  the  Seigneur 
of  Cceuvres.  The  peasant  readily  consented  to  his 
proposal.  In  those  boisterous  days  of  internecine 
warfare  nothing  of  this  kind  caused  astonishment, 
spies,  in  every  species  of  disguise,  continually  pass- 
ing to  and  fro  between  the  two  armies.  So  Henry 
IV.,  in  the  garb  of  a  peasant,  pushed  on  alone. 

The  day  was  fast  falling,  deep  shadows  gathered 
in  the  forest  and  around  the  castle.  Gabrielle  sat 
within  in  the  twilight  embroidering  a  scarf.  She  was 
thinking  over  all  the  difficulties  of  her  position, 
divided  as  she  was  between  regard  for  the  generous 
Bellegarde  and  her  passion  each  day  growing  stronger 
for  the  King.  Suddenly  her  maid  Louise  came  into 
the  room  and  begged  her,  as  she  had  passed  all  day 
in  the  house,  to  take  a  little  fresh  air. 

"  Come,  madame,  wtrle  there  is  yet  a  little  light ; 
come,  at  least,  to  the  balcony  that  looks  out  over 
the  terrace,  where  the  breeze  is  so  pleasant,  and  see 
the  sun  set  over  the  tree-tops." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Gabrielle,  shaking  her  head 
sadly.  "  Leave  me  alone.  I  have  enough  to  think 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  1 75 

about,  and  I  want  to  finish  my  scarf,  or  it  will  not  be 
done  by  the  time  I  promised  Bellegarde.  Besides  I 
do  not  fancy  open  balconies  in  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber;  it  is  too  cold." 

"  Oh  !  but,"  pleaded  Louise,  "  the  day  has  been  so 
splendid — like  summer  in  the  forest.  Pray  come, 
madame." 

"  Why  do  you  plague  me  so?  I  never  remember 
your  great  desire  for  open  air  before."  And  Gabri- 
elle rose.  She  was  no  sooner  on  the  balcony, 
watching  the  last  streaks  of  golden  light  glittering 
among  the  branches  and  lighting  up  the  plain  beyond 
in  a  ruddy  mist,  than  all  at  once  she  heard  a  rustling 
noise,  and  on  looking  down  saw,  just  under  the 
balcony,  on  the  grass-plot,  a  peasant  on  a  horse, 
laden  with  a  bundle  of  straw. 

The  peasant  stopped  and  gazed  at  her  for  some 
time,  then,  throwing  away  the  straw,  he  flung  him- 
self from  his  horse  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  her, 
clasping  his  hands,  as  if  about  to  worship  at  some 
shrine. 

Juliette,  Gabrielle's  sister,  now  joined  her  on  the 
balcony.  Readier-witted  than  she,  Juliette  whis- 
pered— 

"  Gabrielle,  it  is  the  King — he  is  disguised  !  " 

Louise  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  at  their  surprise 
and  ran  away.  It  was  now  apparent  why  she  was 
so  anxious  to  make  Gabrielle  go  on  the  balcony  to 
see  the  sun  set.  Gabrielle  had  not  dreamt  of  seeing 
the  King,  who  was  reported  to  be  encamped  at  some 
distance.  Her  first  feeling  was  one  of  anger  for  his 
utter  want  of  dignity.  To  kneel  on  the  wet  grass, 
and  in  the  dress  of  a  peasant !  Besides,  this  disguise 


176  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

was  most  unbecoming  to  him.  He  looked  positively 
hideous. 

Juliette  retired,  and  Gabrielle  was  left  standing 
alone  on  the  balcony  before  the  King.  As  yet  she 
had  not  spoken. 

"What!  not  a  word  to  greet  me  ?"  cried  Henry, 
rising.  "  Why,  vrai  Dieu,  many  a  lady  of  our  Court 
would  have  flung  herself  down  headlong  to  welcome 
me,  and  never  cared  if  she  broke  her  neck !  Come, 
belle  des  belles,  look  down  graciously  upon  your 
devoted  slave,  whose  only  desire  is  to  die  at  your 
feet." 

"Sire,"  replied  Gabrielle,  "for  heaven's  sake  go 
away.  Return  to  Mantes,  and  never  let  me  see  you 
again  so  vilely  dressed.  Always  wear  your  white 
panache  and  your  scarlet  mantle  when  you  come. 
Without  it  you  are  not  Henre  Quatre.  Better  stay 
away  altogether,  for  you  know  well  your  enemies 
are  prowling  about  in  this  neighbourhood.  Besides, 
who  can  tell  ?  Bellegarde  may  come.  Pray,  I 
entreat  you,  go  away  directly." 

"Ma  foi!"  replied  the  King,  "let  them  come, 
Leaguers  or  Spaniards,  Bellegarde  or  the  devil,  what 
care  I,  if  La  Belle  Gabrielle  looks  kindly  on  me? 
Come  down  to  me,  Gabrielle." 

"  Kind  I  will  certainly  not  be  if  your  Majesty  do 
not  at  once  depart.  Kneeling  in  that  manner  is  too 
ridiculous.  I  will  not  come  down.  I  shall  go  away. 
I  am  no  saint  to  be  prayed  to,  heaven  knows.  If 
your  Majesty  won't  remount,  I  shall  really  go  away." 

"You  could  not  have  the  heart,  Gabrielle,"  replied 
Henry,  "when  I  have  run  such  risks  to  see  you  for 
a  moment." 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  177 

His  horse  stood  by  cropping  the  grass.  The  King 
leaving  the  bundle  of  straw  on  the  ground,  sprang 
into  the  saddle  without  even  touching  the  stirrup, 
and  again  addressed  her.  She  was  terrified  at  the 
idea  of  being  surprised  by  any  one,  especially  Belle- 
garde,  who  would  have  been  so  incensed,  that  he 
might  have  forgotten  himself  towards  his  Majesty. 

For  a  moment  Gabrielle  was  overcome.  Tears 
came  into  her  eyes  out  of  sheer  vexation  and  fear  of 
consequences,  both  to  him,  who  might  fall  into  an 
ambuscade,  and  to  herself.  As  she  lifted  up  her 
hands  to  wipe  the  tears  away,  the  scarf  she  had  been 
embroidering,  and  which  she  still  held,  slipped  out 
of  her  hand,  and  borne  by  the  wind,  after  fluttering 
for  a  few  moments,  dropped  on  the  King,  who, 
catching  it,  exclaimed — 

"  Ventre  Saint  Gris  !  what  have  we  here  ?  " 

"Oh,  Sire !"  cried  Gabrielle,  "it  is  my  work — a 
scarf ;  it  is  all  but  finished,  and  now  I  have  dropped  it." 

"  By  all  the  rules  of  war,  fair  lady,"  said  Henry, 
"  what  falls  from  the  walls  of  a  besieged  city  belongs 
to  the  soldier ;  so,  by  your  leave,  dear  Gabrielle,  the 
scarf  is  mine ;  I  will  wear  it." 

"  Oh !  "  replied  she,  leaning  over  the  balcony,  "  do 
give  it  me  back ;  it  is  for  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde, 
and  he  knows  it.  Should  he  see  your  Majesty  with 
it,  what  will  he  think?  He  would  never  believe  but 
that  I  gave  it  to  you." 

"  By  the  mass  !  it  is  too  good  for  him  ;  I  will  keep 
it  without  any  remorse,  and  cover  with  a  thousand 
kisses  these  stitches  woven  by  your  delicate  fingers." 

"  But,  indeed,  Sire,  it  is  promised — Monsieur  de 
Bellegarde  will  ask  me  for  it  ;  what  am  I  to  say?" 


VOL.  I.  — 12 


178  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Bellegarde  shall  never  have  it,  I  promise  you. 
Tell  him  that,  like  Penelope,  you  undid  in  the  night 
what  you  worked  in  the  day.  Come,  come,  now, 
Gabrielle,  confess  you  are  not  in  reality  so  much 
attached  to  Bellegarde  as  you  pretend,  and  that  if  I 
can  prove  to  you  he  is  unworthy  of  your  love  and 
inconstant  into  the  bargain,  you  will  promise  to  give 
me  his  place  in  your  heart.  Besides,  his  position  is 
unworthy  of  your  beauty  ;  there  is  but  one  ornament 
worthy  of  that  snowy  brow — Bellegarde  cannot  place 
it  there ;  but  I  know  another  able  and  willing,  when 
the  cursed  League  is  dispersed,  to  give  that  finishing 
touch  to  your  loveliness." 

"  Sire,"  replied  she,  "  I  must  not  listen  to  what 
you  say.  I  cannot  believe  anything  against  Belle- 
garde  ;  I  have  known  him  all  my  life,  and  he  has 
never  deceived  me.  Nothing  but  the  most  positive 
evidence  shall  convince  me  that  he  is  false." 

"  How  now  ?  Saints  et  Saintes !  you  doubt  my 
word — the  word  of  a  king !  But,  Gabrielle,  I  can 
give  you  proofs,  be  assured." 

"  Oh,  Sire,  it  is  not  for  me  to  talk  of  proofs  or  to 
reproach  him.  Poor  Bellegarde !  my  heart  bleeds 
when  I  think  of  him."  Her  head  fell  upon  her 
bosom  ;  again  the  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  Then 
she  looked  up,  and  becoming  aware  all  at  once  that 
it  had  grown  quite  dusk,  she  forgot  every  other  feel- 
ing in  fear  for  the  King's  safety.  "  Sire,  go  away,  I 
implore  you,  return  to  your  quarters  as  fast  as  your 
horse  can  carry  you.  If  I  have  been  cold,  remember 
what  you  are  risking — your  life  and  my  good  name ! 
for  you  will  be  seen  by  some  one." 

"  Gabrielle,  do  you  drive  me  away  thus,  when  to 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  I  79 

leave  you  costs  me  such  a  pang !  Heaven  knows 
when  this  war  will  allow  us  again  to  meet !  I  never 
know  from  day  to  day  but  that  some  rebel  of  a 
Leaguer  may  finish  me  by  a  stray  shot  ;  much  less 
do  I  know  where  or  how  I  may  be.  The  present  is 
all  I  have — let  me  enjoy  it." 

"  Ah,  Sire !  only  put  down  that  atrocious  League, 
and  we  will  meet  when  you  please.  I  shall  offer  up 
no  end  of  prayers  that  it  may  be  so." 

"  Whatever  comes  out  of  those  ruby  lips  will  not 
fail  of  being  heard  ;  as  to  your  slave  Henry,  the  very 
knowledge  that  such  a  divinity  stoops  to  interest 
herself  in  his  fate  will  serve  as  a  talisman  to  shield 
him  from  every  danger." 

"  Your  Majesty  speaks  like  a  poet,"  and  a  soft 
laugh  was  heard  out  of  the  darkness.  "  Now  adieu, 
Sire  !  I  wish  you  a  safe  journey  wherever  you  go, 
and  may  you  prevail  against  your  foes.  When  you 
see  Monsieur  de  Bellegarde,  assure  him  of  my  love." 

"Ungrateful  Gabrielle!  thus  to  trifle  with  me. 
But  I  have  proofs,  vrai  Dieu  !  I  have  proofs  that 
shall  cure  you  of  that  attachment." 

"  Sire,  why  should  you  seek  to  make  me  unhappy  ? 
You  know  that  for  years  I  have  been  engaged  to 
Bellegarde,  and  that  I  look  forward  to  my  marriage 
with  the  utmost  delight.  Why,  then,  endeavour  to 
separate  us?  " 

"  Par  exemple,  ma  belle,  you  give  me  credit  for 
being  vastly  magnanimous,  upon  my  word  !  What 
then,  Gabrielle,  would  you  have  me  resign  you  with- 
out a  struggle  ? — nay,  am  I  expected  to  bring  about 
your  marriage  with  a  rival?  That  is  a  little  too 
much,  forsooth !  " 


180  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Nenni,  Sire  ;  I  only  ask  you  not  to  prevent  it. 
Such  artifice  would  be  unworthy  so  generous  a 
monarch  to  a  faithful  servant  like  poor  Bellegarde, 
to  whom  I  am — "  and  she  could  not  help  again 
laughing,  so  dismal  was  the  look  of  the  King — "  to 
whom  I  am  bound  in  all  honour.  Then  there  is 
your  Majesty's  wife,  the  Queen  of  Navarre — for, 
Sire,  you  seem  to  forget  that  you  have  a  wife." 

"  Yes,  as  I  have  a  Crown,  which  I  am  never  to 
wear.  That  infernal  Marguerite  is  keeping  her  state 
with  a  vengeance,  and  forgetting,  par  Dieu,  she  has 
a  husband.  The  people  of  Usson,  in  Auvergne,  call 
shame  on  her ;  they  know  what  she  is  better  than 
I  do." 

"  Sire,  I  beg  of  you  to  speak  at  least  with  respect 
of  Madame  Marguerite  de  France." 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  frank  with  you,  ma  belle, 
at  least  ?  Ah,  Margot,  la  reine  Margot,  a  la  bonne 
heure  !  I  only  wish  she  were  in  her  coffin  at  Saint- 
Denis  along  with  her  brothers.  I  shall  be  quit  of  a 
wife  altogether  until  I  enter  Paris,  and  then  we  shall 
see — we  shall  see  who  will  be  crowned  with  me. 
But,  mignonne,  I  must  indeed  bid  you  adieu.  Mor- 
bleu  /  my  people  will  think  I  am  lost,  and  besiege 
the  chateau.  Adieu  until  I  can  next  come.  I  will 
write  to  you  in  the  meantime.  Remember  to  for- 
get Bellegarde,  as  you  value  the  favour  of  your 
Sovereign." 

And  kissing  the  scarf  he  had  stolen  from  her,  the 
King  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  away  into 
the  darkness. 

Gabrielle  d'Estrees  followed  his  pernicious  counsel 
but  too  readily,  as  the  sequel  will  show.  Unable  to 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  181 

resist  the  continued  blandishments  of  the  King,  and 
silencing  her  conscience  by  a  belief  in  his  promise  of 
marriage,  she  sacrificed  her  lover,  the  Due  de  Belle- 
garde,  sincerely  and  honourably  attached  to  her  for 
many  years  and  whom  she  had  once  really  loved,  for 
the  sake  of  the  gallant  but  licentious  Henry.  She 
followed  the  King  to  Mantes,  in  company  with  her 
father,  whom  the  King  made  General  of  Artillery 
and  loaded  with  honours.  After  this  Henry  would 
not  hear  of  her  returning  to  the  Chateau  of  Cceuvres, 
a  place,  he  said,  too  remote  and  difficult  of  access. 
He  finally  prevailed  on  her  to  accompany  him  to  the 
camp  at  Saint-Germain. 

The  Due  de  Bellegarde  was  banished. 

In  the  autumn  she  was  still  at  Saint-Germain, 
where  the  King,  in  his  brief  intervals  of  leisure, 
showed  more  and  more  delight  in  her  society. 

One  day  he  entered  Gabrielle's  apartment,  and 
dismissing  his  attendants  sank  into  a  chair  without 
saying  a  word.  He  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  Gabrielle 
looked  up  at  him,  wondering, at  his  silence — she  per- 
ceived that  he  was  weeping.  Surprised  at  his  emo- 
tion, she  asked  him,  with  an  offended  air,  if  the  sight 
of  her  had  caused  those  tears,  for  if  such  were  the 
case  she  would  go  back  to  the  Castle  of  Cceuvres,  if 
it  so  pleased  his  Majesty. 

" Mignonne"  replied  Henry  very  gravely,  taking 
her  hand  and  kissing  it,  "  it  is  indeed  you  who  are 
partly  the  cause  of  my  grief,  but  not  because  you  are 
here.  Seeing  you  makes  me  envy  the  happiness  of 
the  poorest  peasant  in  my  dominions,  living  on  bread 
and  garlic,  who  has  the  woman  he  loves  beside  him, 
and  is  his  own  master.  I  am  no  king,  I  am  nothing 


1 82  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

but  a  miserable  slave,  jostled  between  Calvinists  and 
Catholics,  who  both  distrust  me." 

"  Come,  come,  Sire,  dismiss  these  fancies,  at  least 
while  you  are  with  me,"  answered  she. 

"  On  the  contrary,  Gabrielle,  it  is  the  sight  of  you 
that  recalls  them.  You  have  escaped  from  the  con- 
trol of  a  father  to  live  with  me,  while  my  chains 
press  about  me  tighter  than  ever.  I  cannot,  I  dare 
not  break  them, — and  be  wholly  yours.  You  gain 
and  I  lose — that  is  all." 

"  Sire,"  said  she,  sadly,  "  I  am  not  sure  of  that. 
Women,  I  believe,  are  best  in  the  chains  you  speak 
of.  I  shall  see.  If  I  have  gained,  you  will  keep  your 
promise  to  me.  I  am  not  so  certain  of  it  ;  all  I  know 
is,  whatever  has  been  or  is  to  be,  that  I  love  you," 
and  she  turned  her  languishing  blue  eyes  full  upon 
him. 

"  Gabrielle,  I  swear  I  will  keep  my  promise.  Does 
not  every  act  of  my  life  prove  my  devotion  ?  " 

"  Well  then,  Sire,  succeed  in  putting  down  that 
odious  League,  march  on  to  Paris,  and  I  shall  be 
happy.  To  see  you  crowned  and  anointed  at 
Rheims  I  would  give  my  life  !  " 

"  Never  fear,  sweet  ;  this  will  come  about  shortly. 
I  am  certain.  There,  are,  however,  more  difficulties 
than  you  are  aware  of.  If  I  become  a  Catholic,  as 
all  my  nobles  wish  me  to  do — and  beautiful  France 
is  well  worth  a  mass — then  the  Calvinists  will  at  once 
reorganise  this  cursed  League  ;  and,  if  I  persist  in 
my  faith,  which  my  poor  mother  reared  me  up  to 
love  sincerely — why  then  I  shall  be  forsaken  by  all 
the  Catholics ;  a  fact  they  take  care  to  remind  me  of 
everyday  of  my  life.  Vrai  Dicu !  I  only  wish  I 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  183 

were  once  again  Prince  of  Navarre,  free  and  joyous, 
fighting  and  hunting,  dancing  and  jousting,  without 
an  acre  of  land,  as  I  was  formerly." 

"  Sire,  all  will  be  well ;  be  more  sanguine,  I  entreat 
you.  If  my  poor  words  have  any  power  over  you," 
she  added,  encouragingly,  "  dismiss  such  gloomy 
thoughts.  Believe  me,  the  future  has  much  in  store 
for  you  and  for  me." 

"  Ah  !  dear  Gabrielle,  when  I  'am  far  away  over 
mountains  and  valleys,  separated  from  those  lovely 
eyes  that  now  beam  so  brightly  on  me,  I  feel  all  the 
torments  of  jealousy.  Away  from  you,  happiness  is 
impossible." 

"  Well,  Sire,  if  it  is  only  my  presence  you  want,  I 
will  follow  you  to  the  end  of  the  world — I  will  go 
anywhere ;  "  Gabrielle  spoke  with  impassioned 
ardour. 

"  Ma  mie  !  it  is  this  love  alone  that  enables  me  to 
bear  all  the  anxieties  and  troubles  that  surround  me 
on  every  side.  I  value  it  more  than  the  Crown  of 
France ;  but  this  very  love  of  yours,  entire  as  I 
believe  it  to  be,  is  the  one  principal  cause  of  my 
misery." 

"How  can  that  be?  "answered  she  caressingly; 
"  I  love  you — I  will  ever  be  constant,  I  swear  it 
solemnly,  Henry." 

"  Yes,"  replied  he  thoughtfully,  "  but  I  have  pro- 
mised you  marriage — you  must  sit  beside  me  as 
Queen  of  France.  Do  you  forget  that  I  have  the 
honour  of  being  the  husband  of  a  queen — the  sister 
of  three  defunct  monarchs — the  most  abandoned, 
the  most  disgraceful,  the  most  odious — 

"  Sire,  you  need  not  think  about  her  ;  you  are  not 


184  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

obliged  to  be  a  witness  of  her  disorders.  Let  her 
enjoy  all  her  gallantries  at  the  Castle  of  Usson.  You 

can  easily  divorce  her  when  you  please and  then 

nothing  can  part  us." 

"  Venire  Saint  Gris !  cursed  be  the  demon  who 
dishonours  me  by  calling  herself  my  wife  !  that  wretch 
who  prevents  my  marrying  the  angel  whom  I  love 
so  entirely^— your  own  sweet  self!  " 

"  Henry,  my  heart  at  least  is  yours." 

"  Yes,  dearest ;  but  not  more  mine  than  I  am  yours 
eternally — and  I  would  recompense  your  love  as  it 
deserves.  But  know,  Gabrielle,  that  Marguerite  de 
Valois  absolutely  refuses  to  consent  to  a  divorce 
that  I  may  marry  you.  She  declares  she  acts  in  my 
interests  ;  but  I  believe  her  odious  pride  is  offended 
at  being  succeeded  by  a  gentlewoman  of  honest  and 
ancient  lineage,  a  thousand  times  better  than  all  the 
Valois  that  ever  lived,  a  race  born  of  the  Devil,  I 
verily  believe.  I  have  threatened  her  with  a  state 
trial ;  the  proofs  against  her  are  flagrant.  She  knows 
that  she  would  in  that  case  be  either  beheaded  or 
imprisoned  for  life.  Not  even  that  shakes  her 
resolve,  so  inveterate  is  she  against  our  union." 

"  Alas  !  poor  lady — did  she  ever  love  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  whit ;  she  was  false  from  the  beginning. 
Let  us  speak  of  her  no  more,"  said  the  King,  rising 
and  walking  up  and  down  the  room.  Then  stopping 
opposite  Gabrielle,  who,  dismayed  at  what  she 
heard,  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  he 
asked  her,  "  How  about  Bellegarde  ?  " 

Gabrielle  shrank  back,  then  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  entirely  banished  from  your 
remembrance  ?  " 


Charmante  Gabrielle.  185 

"As  much  as  if  I  had  never  known  him,"  replied 
she  promptly. 

"  I  depend  upon  your  pledge  of  meeting  him  no 
more,  because,  good-natured  as  I  am — and  I  am 
good  natured,  Par  Dieii  ! — I  am  somewhat  choleric 
and  hot  (God  pardon  me),  and  if  by  chance  I  ever 
surprised  you  together,  why,  vrai  Dieu,  if  I  had  my 
sword  I  might  be  sorry  for  the  consequences." 

"  Sire,  there  is  no  danger ;  you  may  wear  your 
sword  for  me.  If  such  a  thing  ever  occurred,  it  is  I 
who  would  deserve  to  die." 

"  Well,  ma  mic,  I  must  draw  the  trenches  nearer 
the  walls  of  Paris.  In  my  absence  remain  at  Mantes," 
said  Henry.  "  Then  I  must  advance  upon  Rouen. 
I  expect  a  vigorous  resistance,  and  God  only  knows 
how  it  will  end.  I  leave  all  in  your  care,  and  invest 
you,  fair  Gabrielle,  with  the  same  power  as  if  you 
were  really  queen.  Would  to  heaven  you  were — 
confound  that  devil  of  a  Margot !  I  will  return  to 
you  as  often  as  I  can,  and  write  constantly.  Now  I 
must  say  that  sad  word,  adieu.  Adieu !  adieu ! 
ma  mie" 

Gabrielle  consoled  the  King  as  best  she  could,  and 
after  much  ado  he  took  his  departure,  always  re- 
peating, "adieu,  ma  mie" 

After  he  had  passed  down  the  great  gallery, 
Gabrielle  rushed  to  one  of  the  windows  overlooking 
the  entrance,  to  catch  the  last  sight  of  him.  She 
saw  him  vault  on  horseback,  and  ride  down  the  hill 
with  a  brilliant  retinue;  that  excellent  creature, 
Chicot  the  jester,  as  faithful  as  Achates,  but  whom 
he  had  the  misfortune  soon  after  to  lose,  close  at 
his  side. 


1 86  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ITALIAN    ART. 

YEARS  have  passed.  The  wars  of  the  League  are 
over,  and  Henry  is  undisputed  master  of  France. 
He  has  proved  himself  a  hero  in  a  hundred  battles, 
but  has  acquired  nothing  heroic  in  his  appearance. 
Still  in  the  prime  of  life,  he  has  the  keenest  sense 
of  enjoyment,  the  warmest  heart,  the  old  love  of 
danger  and  contempt  of  consequences.  His  time  is 
divided  between  hunting  in  the  forest  of  Fontaine- 
bleau  and  the  society  of  Gabrielle  d'Estr£es,  and  her 
little  son  Caesar,  created  Due  de  Vendome. 

Gabrielle  has  nominally  been  married  to  the  Sieur 
de  Liancourt,  in  accordance  with  court  etiquette, 
which  did  not  permit  a  single  lady  permanently  to 
form  part  of  a  Court  without  a  Queen.  Henry  has 
been  severely  commented  on  for  this  marriage 
mockery,  for  husband  and  wife  parted  at  the  church 
door.  Gabrielle,  who  has  been  created  Duchesse  de 
Beaufort,  is  exceedingly  unpopular.  The  divorce 
from  "  la  reine  Margot  "  is  still  incomplete,  that 
obstinate  princess  objecting  to  conclude  the  needful 
formalities  on  the  ground  that  Gabrielle  is  not  of 
royal  blood.  Conquered  by  her  prayers,  her  sweet- 
ness, and  her  devotion,  Henry  is  still  resolved  to 
marry  his  lovely  duchess.  In  vain  he  urges,  threat- 
ens, and  storms ;  the  tyrant  Queen  will  not  consent. 
By  Gabrielle's  advice  he  has  become  a  Catholic. 
"  Ma  Gabrielle,"  he  writes  from  Paris,  "  I  have 
yielded  to  your  entreaties.  I  have  spoken  to  the 


Italian  Art.  187 

bishops  ;  on  Sunday  I  make  the  perilous  leap.  I  kiss 
my  angel's  hand." 

A  strong  political  party  opposed  the  marriage. 
Sully  was  dead  against  it.  Gabrielle,  it  was  argued, 
however  fascinating  and  correct  in  conduct,  was  no 
match  for  Henry  the  Great.  Besides,  as  being 
already  the  mother  of  two  children  by  the  King,  a 
disputed  succession  would  be  certain.  The  Court  of 
Rome  had  plans  of  its  own,  too,  about  the  King's 
marriage,  and  already  the  name  of  Marie  de'  Medici 
had  been  mentioned  as  a  fitting  consort.  The 
Pontiff  himself  favoured  the  match,  and  he  alone 
could  solve  every  difficulty  with  regard  to  the 
divorce.  Sully  looked  askance  at  the  excessive 
influence  Gabrielle  exercised  over  his  master.  The 
Florentine  marriage  was  approved  by  him,  and  the 
negotiations  had  already  begun.  Marie  de'  Medici 
fulfilled  every  requirement.  She  was  young,  beauti- 
ful, rich,  and  allied  to  the  throne  of  France  by  her 
relative,  Catherine  de'  Medici.  As  long  as  Gabrielle 
lived  there  was  no  chance  of  inducing  the  King  to 
consider  seriously  any  other  alliance.  Must  she  die  ? 
Poor  Gabrielle !  there  were  not  wanting  foreign 
noblemen  like  Marechal  d'Ornano,  besides  a  host  of 
low  Italian  usurers  and  Jews  brought  to  France  by 
Catherine  de'  Medici — mere  mushrooms  who  had 
acquired  enormous  wealth  by  pillaging  the  Court — 
who  lent  the  King  money  and  pandered  to  his 
desires,  ready  and  willing  to  forward  his  marriage 
with  a  richly  dowered  princess,  their  countrywoman, 
even  by  a  crime. 

Gabrielle  is  at  Fontainebleau.  She  expects  the 
King,  who  is  in  Paris.  An  extraordinary  depres- 


1 88  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

sion,  a  foreboding  of  evil,  overwhelms  her.  She 
knows  but  too  well  of  the  powerful  party  arrayed 
against  her, — that  Sully  is  her  enemy,  that  the  Pope 
is  inflexible  about  granting  the  divorce,  even  if 
Marguerite  de  Valois  should  consent,  which  she  will 
not  whilst  Gabrielle  lives  ;  she  knows  that  all  France 
is  reluctant  to  receive  her  as  its  queen.  But  there 
is  the  King's  promise  of  marriage,  repeated  again  and 
again  with  oaths  of  passionate  fondness.  Will  he 
keep  that  promise  of  marriage  ?  That  is  the  question. 
She  knows  he  loves  her ;  but  love  is  but  an  episode 
in  the  chequered  life  of  a  soldier-king.  How  many 
others  has  he  not  loved?  How  many  promises  of 
marriage  has  he  not  broken  ?  True,  she  is  always 
treated  as  his  wife.  She  lodges  in  the  apartments 
assigned  to  the  Queen  of  France  in  the  "  Oval 
Court."  She  is  seated  beside  him  on  occasions  of 
state ;  every  favour  she  asks  is  granted,,  all  who 
recommend  themselves  to  her  intercession  are 
pardoned.  The  greatest  ladies  of  the  Court — the 
Duchesse  de  Guise  and  her  witty  daughter,  the 
Duchesse  de  Retz,  even  the  austere  Duchesse  de 
Sully — are  proud  to  attend  upon  her.  Bellegarde, 
the  faithful  Bellegarde,  restored  to  favour,  now  her 
devoted  servant,  watches  over  her  interests  with 
ceaseless  anxiety.  Yet  her  very  soul  is  heavy  within 
her ;  her  position  is  intolerable.  After  all,  what  is 
she  but  the  mistress  of  the  King?  She  shudders  at 
the  thought. 

The  season  is  spring.  The  trees  are  green  ;  their 
tender  foliage  but  lightly  shades  the  formal  walks 
ranged  round  a  fountain  in  a  little  garden  (still  re- 
maining) that  Henry  has  made  for  her  under  the 


Italian  Art.  189 

palace  walls.  The  fountain,  in  the  centre  of  a  par- 
terre of  grass  and  flowers,  catches  the  rays  of  the 
April  sun,  glitters  for  an  instant  in  a  flood  of  rain- 
bow tints,  then  falls  back  in  showers  of  spray  into 
a  marble  basin  supported  by  statues. 

Gabrielle  is  dressed  in  a  white  robe  ;  the  long  folds 
trail  upon  the  ground.  Her  auburn  hair,  drawn  off 
her  face,  is  gathered  into  a  coronet  of  gold  ;  rich  lace 
covers  her  bosom,  and  a  high  ruff  rises  from  her 
shoulders  ;  on  her  neck  is  a  string  of  pearls,  to  which 
is  attached  a  miniature  of  the  King.  With  the  years 
that  have  passed  the  bloom  of  youth  is  gone ;  the 
joyous  expression  of  early  days  has  died  out  of  those 
soft  pleading  eyes.  Lovely  she  is  still ;  her  com- 
plexion is  delicately  fair,  and  the  pensive  look  in 
her  face  is  touching  to  the  last  degree.  Graceful 
and  gracious  as  ever,  there  is  a  sedate  dignity,  a 
tempered  reserve,  in  her  address,  befitting  the  royal 
station  which  awaits  her. 

She  stops,  sighs,  then  listens  for  the  sound  of 
horses'  feet.  There  is  not  a  breath  stirring,  save  the 
hum  of  insects  about  the  fountain  and  the  murmur 
of  the  breeze  among  the  trees.  She  takes  from  her 
bosom  a  letter.  It  is  in  the  King's  handwriting  and 
shows  manifest  signs  of  having  been  often  handled. 
She  kisses  the  signature,  and  reads  these  words  :— 

"  You  conjured  me  to  take  with  me  as  much  love 
for  you  as  I  know  I  leave  with  you  for  me.  Now  in 
two  hours  after  you  receive  this  you  shall  behold 
a  knight  who  adores  you.  People  call  him  King  of 
France  and  of  Navarre,  but  he  calls  himself  your  sub- 
ject and  your  slave.  No  woman  can  compare  to  you 


190  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

in  judgment  or  in  beauty.     I  cherish  and  honour  you 
beyond  all  earthly  things." 

A  dreamy  smile  comes  over  her  face.  Again  she 
raises  her  head  to  listen,  and  again  hears  nothing. 
Wearily  she  paces  round  and  round  the  fountain, 
holding  the  letter  still  in  her  hands.  Then  she 
enters  the  palace  by  an  arcaded  corridor,  and  mount- 
ing a  flight  of  steps,  seats  herself  in  the  vestibule  to 
await  the  King's  arrival.  At  length  he  enters  the 
court  named  "  The  White  Horse."  Gabrielle  is  on 
the  terrace  to  receive  him. 

"You  are  late,  Sire." 

"Yes,  sweetheart.  I  thought  I  should  never  get 
here.  The  Seine  was  swollen  and  we  had  a  saucy 
ferryman.  Come  hither,  Gabrielle,  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  he  said,  while  he  pulled  us  across  the  river. 
He  was  a  funny  rogue." 

"  Did  he  not  know  you  then,  Sire?" 

"  No.  How  should  he  in  this  grey  doublet  and 
with  only  a  single  gentleman?  He  asked  me  if  we 
were  gallants  for  the  Court.  I  said  yes,  we  were 
bound  to  Fontainebleau  to  hunt  with  the  King. 
'  People  say  we  have  a  hero  for  a  King,'  he  said ; 
'  but,  morbleu  !  this  hero  taxes  everything.  Even 
the  very  boat  your  excellency  sits  in  is  taxed.  We 
will  pay  for  him  nevertheless ;  he  is  an  honest  King. 
But  it  is  his  mistress,  folks  say,  who  wants  the 
money  to  pay  for  her  fine  gauds  and  dresses.  She 
is  but  a  plain  gentlewoman  born,  after  all.  If  she 
were  a  princess  now,  why  then  I  'd  forgive  her.'  So 
you  see,  Gabrielle,  when  you  are  a  queen,  the  people 
will  love  you  and  pay  the  taxes  willingly."  And 


Italian  Art.  191 

Henry  laughs  and  looks  at  Gabrielle,  who  has 
changed  colour;  but  the  King  does  not  observe  it 
and  continues  his  story.  " '  Sirrah,'  I  said  to  him, 
'you  malign  a  charming  lady.'  'Devil  take  her!' 
replied  the  churlish  ferrymen ;  '  I  wish  she  were  in 
heaven.'  So  I  rode  away  without  paying  my  toll. 
The  fellow  bellowed  after  me,  and  ran,  but  could 
not  catch  me.  We  will  call  this  drfile  hither,  and 
divert  ourselves  with  him." 

As  Henry  proceeds  with  his  story,  Gabrielle's  look 
of  pain  has  deepened. 

"  I  pray  your  Majesty  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind," 
she  answers  sharply  ;  "  I  do  not  love  coarse  jokes." 
Henry  looks  at  her  with  surprise. 

"  I  am  wretched  enough  already,  heaven  knows, 
without  being  mocked  by  the  ribaldry  of  a  low 
bargeman,  who,  after  all,  has  reason  for  what  he  says. 
Why  did  you  tell  me  this  story,  Henry?"  she  adds 
in  a  plaintive  tone,  bursting  into  tears.  "  Am  I  not 
degraded  enough  already?" 

"  How,  Gabrielle,  this  from  you  ?  when,  spite  of 
every  obstacle,  within  a  few  weeks  you  will  be 
crowned  my  queen?  " 

A  knock  is  now  heard  at  the  door,  and  Sully  en- 
ters. He  looks  hot  and  surly.  He  barely  salutes 
the  King,  and  scowls  at  Gabrielle,  who  instantly 
retreats  to  the  farther  corner  of  the  room.  Sully 
wears  a  threadbare  doublet,  his  grey  hair  is  un- 
combed over  his  forehead,  and  he  carries  some 
papers  in  his  hand. 

"  Sire,"  he  says,  addressing  the  King  abruptly  and 
unfolding  these  papers,  "  if  you  pass  this  document, 
you  had  better  declare  yourself  at  once  the  husband 


192  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

of  her  grace  there,  the  Duchesse  de  Beaufort." 
Sully  points  at  Gabrielle,  who  cowers  in  the  corner. 

Poor  Gabrielle  is  thunderstruck,  and  trembles  at 
the  certainty  of  a  violent  scene.  She  had  often  had 
to  bear  at  different  times  roughness,  and  even  rude- 
ness, from  Sully,  but  such  language  as  this  she  had 
never  heard.  What  does  it  mean  ? 

The  King  takes  the  papers  in  his  hand. 

"  What  are  these,  Sully  ?  "  he  says,  looking  grave. 
"  Bills  for  the  entertainment  given  by  the  Duchesse 
de  Beaufort  for  the  baptism  of  my  second  son,  Alex- 
andria, son  of  France,  eight  thousand  francs  !  Im- 
possible !  Baptismal  fees  for  a  son  of  France? 
There  is  no  son  of  France.  I  wish  to  God  there 
were  !  What  does  all  this  mean,  Sully?  " 

"  It  means,  Sire,  that  if  you  sign  that  paper,  I 
shall  leave  the  Court." 

"  Come,  come,  my  good  Rosny,  you  forget  that 
the  Duchess  is  present  "  ;  and  he  glances  at  Gabrielle, 
who  lay  back  on  the  arm-chair,  weeping  bitterly. 

"  No,  Sire  ;  I  mean  what  I  say.  My  advice  is  dis- 
regarded ;  I  am  superseded  by  a  council  of  women  "  ; 
and  he  turns  fiercely  towards  the  Duchesse.  "  The 
nation  groans  under  heavy  taxes.  Complaints  reach 
me  from  every  quarter.  What  am  I  to  do,  if  the 
revenues  are  squandered  like  this?  " 

Gabrielle's  sobs  had  now  become  audible.  Henry, 
still  holding  the  paper,  looks  greatly  perplexed. 

"  The  amount  is  certainly  enormous.  Some  enemy 
of  her  grace  must  have  done  this.  Tell  me,  Gabrielle, 
you  cannot  have  sanctioned  it  ?  There  are  no  '  sons 
of  France."  Say  to  me,  Gabrielle,  that  you  were 
ignorant  of  all  this." 


Italian  Art.  193 

Gabrielle  neither  speaks  nor  moves,  save  that  she 
shakes  with  sobs.  Sully  gazes  at  her  with  a  cynical 
air  as  of  a  man  who  would  not  be  deceived. 

"You  see,  Rosny,"  whispers  the  King  into  his  ear, 
"  that  she  does  not  govern  me,  much  as  I  love  her. 
You  do  me  wrong  to  say  so."  Sully  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  No,  she  shall  not  control  you,  who 
only  live  for  my  service.  I  must  make  her  feel  that 
I  am  displeased.  Speak,  Gabrielle,"  he  continues 
aloud,  in  a  voice  which  he  endeavours  to  make  se- 
vere, "speak."  Receiving  no  answer  he  turns  away 
with  affected  unconcern.  Yet  in  spite  of  his  words, 
he  glances  over  his  shoulder  to  watch  her.  Had 
Sully  not  been  present,  he  would  have  flown  to  her 
on  the  spot  and  yielded.  This  Sully  well  knew  ;  so 
he  did  not  stir. 

There  is  an  awkward  pause.  Horrible  suspicions 
rush  into  Gabrielle's  mind.  That  strange  story  of 
the  ferryman  and  the  taxes ;  Sully's  audacious  lan- 
guage ;  the  King's  coldness :  it  could  only  mean  one 
thing,  and  as  this  conviction  comes  over  her,  her 
heart  dies  within  her. 

"  Sire,"  she  answers  at  last,  suppressing  her  sobs 
as  she  best  could  and  approaching  where  Henry 
stood,  affecting  not  to  notice  her,  "  I  see  that  you 
have  permitted  the  Due  de  Sully  to  come  here  in 
order  to  insult  me.  You  want  to  abandon  me,  Sire. 
Say  so  frankly ;  it  is  more  worthy  of  you.  But  re- 
member that  I  am  not  here  by  my  own  wish,  save 
for  the  love  I  bear  you."  As  she  utters  these 
words  her  voice  nearly  failed  her;  but  by  a  strong 
effort  she  continues,  "  No  one  can  feel  more  forlorn 
than  I  do.  Your  Majesty  has  promised  me  mar- 


194  @td  Court  Life  in  France. 

riage  against  the  advice  of  your  ministers.  This 
scene  is  arranged  between  you  to  justify  you  in 
breaking  your  sacred  word,  else  you  could  never 
allow  the  lady  whom  you  design  for  so  high  an 
honour  to  be  thus  treated  in  your  very  presence." 

Henry,  placed  between  Sully  and  Gabrielle,  is 
both  angry  and  embarrassed.  Her  bitter  words 
have  stung  him  to  the  quick.  He  knows  that  she 
has  no  cause  to  doubt  his  loyalty. 

"  Pardicu,  madame,  you  have  made  me  a  fine 
speech.  You  talk  all  this  nonsense  to  make  me  dis- 
miss Rosny.  If  I  must  choose  between  you,  let  me 
tell  you,  Duchesse,  I  can  part  with  you  better  than 
with  him."  Gabrielle  turns  very  pale,  and  clings  to 
a  chair  for  support.  "  Come,  Rosny,  we  will  have  a 
ride  in  the  forest,  and  leave  the  Duchesse  to  recover 
her  usually  sweet  temper  "  ;  and  without  one  look  at 
her,  Henry  strode  towards  the  door. 

These  bitter  words  are  more  than  his  gentle  mis- 
tress can  bear.  With  a  wild  scream  she  rushes  for- 
ward, and  falls  flat  upon  the  floor  at  the  King's  feet. 
Henry,  greatly  moved,  gathers  her  up  tenderly  in 
his  arms.  Even  the  stern  Sully  relents.  He  looks 
at  her  sorrowfully,  shakes  his  head,  collects  his 
papers,  and  departs. 

The  Holy-week  is  at  hand.  Gabrielle,  who  is  to 
be  crowned  within  a  month,  is  to  communicate  and 
keep  her  Easter  publicly  at  Paris,  while  the  King 
remains  at  Fontainebleau.  An  unaccountable  terror 
of  Paris  and  a  longing  desire  not  to  leave  the  King 
overwhelm  her.  Again  and  again  she  alters  the  hour 
of  her  departure.  She  takes  Henry's  hand  and 
wanders  with  him  to  the  Orangery,  to  the  lake  where 


Italian  Art.  195 

the  carp  are  fed,  to  the  fountain  garden,  and  to  the 
Salle  de  Diane,  which  he  is  building.  She  cannot 
tear  herself  from  him.  She  speaks  much  to  him  of 
their  children,  and  commends  them  again  and  again 
to  his  love.  She  adjures  him  not  to  forget  her  dur- 
ing her  absence. 

"  Why !  ma  belle  des  belles  !  "  exclaims  the  King, 
"  one  would  think  you  were  going  round  the  world ; 
remember,  in  ten  days  I  shall  join  you  in  Paris,  and 
then  my  Gabrielle  shall  return  to  Fontainebleau  as 
Queen  of  France.  I  have  ordered  that  bon  diable 
Zametti,  to  receive  you  at  Paris  as  though  you  were 
already  crowned." 

Now  Zametti  was  an  Italian  Jew  from  Genoa,  who 
had  originally  come  to  France  in  the  household  of 
Catherine  de'  Medici,  as  her  shoemaker.  He  had 
served  her  and  all  her  sons  in  that  capacity,  until 
Henry  III.,  amused  by  his  jests,  and  perceiving  him 
to  be  a  man  of  no  mean  talents,  gave  him  a  place  in 
the  Customs.  Zametti's  fortune  was  made,  and  he 
became  henceforth  usurer  and  money-lender  in  chief 
to  the  reigning  monarch. 

"  I  love  not  Zametti,"  replies  Gabrielle,  shudder- 
ing. "  I  wish  I  were  going  to  my  aunt,  Madame  de 
Sourdis,  she  always  gives  me  good  advice.  Cannot 
your  Majesty  arrange  that  it  should  be  so  still  ?  " 

"  It  is  too  late,  sweetheart.  I  do  not  like  Madame 
de  Sourdis  ;  she  is  not  a  fitting  companion  for  my 
Gabrielle.  Zametti  has,  by  my  orders,  already  pre- 
pared his  house  for  your  reception,  and  certain 
parures  for  your  approval  ;  besides,  what  objection 
can  you  have  to  Zametti,  the  most  courteous  and 
amusing  of  men  ?" 


196  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"Alas!  Henry,  I  cannot  tell  ;  but  I  dread  him.  I 
would  I  were  back  again.  I  feel  as  though  I  were 
entering  a  tomb.  I  am  haunted  by  the  most  dismal 
fancies." 

She  drives  through  the  forest  accompanied  by  the 
King,  who  rides  beside  her  litter,  attended  by  the 
Dues  de  Retz,  Roquelaure,  Montbazon,  and  the 
Marechal  d'Ornano,  to  Melun,  where  a  royal  barge 
awaits  her,  attended  by  a  flotilla  of  boats  decorated 
with  flags  and  streamers  in  the  Venetian  style.  Here 
they  take  a  tender  farewell ;  again  and  again 
Gabrielle  throws  herself  upon  the  King's  neck  and 
whispers  through  her  tears  that  they  will  never  meet 
again.  Henry  laughs,  but,  seeing  her  agitation, 
would  have  accompanied  her  and  have  braved  the 
religious  prejudices  of  the  Parisians,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  entreaties  of  D'Ornano.  Almost  by  force 
is  he  restrained.  Gabrielle  embarks ;  he  stands 
watching  her  as  the  barge  is  towed  rapidly  through 
the  stream ;  one  more  longing,  lingering  look  she 
casts  upon  him,  then  disappears  from  his  sight. 
Downcast  and  sorrowful  the  King  rides  back  to 
Fontainebleau. 

All  night  long  Gabrielle  is  towed  up  the  river. 
She  arrives  at  Paris  in  the  morning.  Zametti,  the 
Italian  usurer  and  jeweller,  with  a  numerous  suite  of 
nobles  and  attendants,  is  waiting  on  the  quay  to  re- 
ceive her.  She  is  carried  to  Zametti's  house,or  rather 
palace,  for  it  was  a  princely  abode,  near  the  Arsenal, 
in  the  new  quarter  of  Paris  then  called  the  Marais. 

Here  unusual  luxuries  await  her,  such  as  were 
common  only  in  Italy  and  among  Italian  princes : 
magnificent  furniture,  embroidered  stuffs,  delicious 


Italian  Art.  197 

perfumes,  rich  dishes.  She  rests  through  the  day 
(the  evening  having  been  passed  in  the  company  of 
the  Duchesse  de  Guise  and  her  daughter),  and  the 
first  night  she  sleeps  well.  Next  day  she  rises  early 
and  goes  to  church.  Before  she  leaves  the  house, 
Zametti  presents  her  with  a  highly  decorated  filigree 
bottle,  containing  a  strong  perfume. 

Before  the  service  is  over  she  faints.  She  is  carried 
back  and  placed,  by  her  own  desire,  in  Zametti's 
garden,  under  a  tuft  of  trees.  She  calls  for  refresh- 
ments. Again  in  the  garden  she  sinks  back  insensi- 
ble. This  time  it  is  very  difficult  to  revive  her. 
When  she  recovers,  she  is  undressed  and  orders  a 
litter  to  be  instantly  prepared  to  bear  her  to  her 
aunt's  house,  which  is  situated  near  Saint-Germain 
1'Auxerrois,  close  to  the  Louvre. 

In  the  meantime  her  head  aches  violently,  but  she 
is  carried  to  her  aunt's,  where  she  is  put  to  bed. 
Here  she  lies  with  her  sweet  eyes  wide  open  and 
turned  upward,  her  beautiful  face  livid,  and  her 
mouth  distorted.  In  her  anguish  she  calls  inces- 
santly for  the  King.  He  cannot  come,  for  it  is  Holy- 
week,  which  he  must  pass  out  of  her  company.  She 
tries  to  write  to  him,  to  tell  him  of  her  condition. 
The  pen  drops  from  her  hand.  A  letter  from  him 
is  given  her ;  she  cannot  read  it.  Convulsions  come 
on,  and  she  expires  insensible. 

That  she  died  poisoned  is  certain.  Poisoned 
either  by  the  subtle  perfume  in  the  filigree  bottle,  or 
by  some  highly  flavoured  dish  of  Zametti's  Italian 
cuisine. 


198  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BIROX'S    TREASON. 

THE  scene  is  again  at  Fontainebleau.  Henry's 
brow  is  knit.  He  is  gloomy  and  sad.  With 
slow  steps  he  quits  the  palace  by  the  Golden  Gate, 
passes  through  the  parterre  garden  under  the  shadow 
of  the  lime  berccan  which  borders  the  long  facade  of 
the  palace,  and  reaches  a  pavilion  under  a  grove  of 
trees  overlooking  the  park  and  the  canal.  This 
pavilion  is  the  house  he  has  built  for  Sully.  The 
statesman  is  seated  writing  in  an  upper  chamber 
overlooking  the  avenues  leading  to  the  forest. 

The  King  enters  unannounced ;  he  throws  his 
arms  round  Sully,  then  sinks  into  a  chair.  Sully 
looks  at  him  unmoved.  He  is  accustomed  to  out- 
breaks of  passion  and  remorse  caused  by  the  King's 
love  affairs,  and  he  mentally  ascribes  his  master's 
present  trouble  to  this  cause.  "  Sully,"  says  Henry, 
speaking  at  last,  "  I  am  betrayed,  betrayed  by  my 
dearest  friend.  Ventre  de  ma  vie  !  Marechal  Biron 
has  conspired  against  me,  with  Spain." 

"How,  Sire?"  cries  Sully,  bounding  from  his 
chair;  "have  you  proofs?" 

"  Ay,  Sully,  only  too  complete ;  his  agent  and 
secretary  Lafin  has  confessed  everything.  Lafin  is 
now  at  Fontainebleau.  I  have  long  doubted  the 
good  faith  of  Biron,  but  I  must  now  bring  myself  to 
hold  him  as  a  traitor." 

"  If  your  Majesty  has  sufficient  proofs,"  said  Sully, 
re-seating  himself,  "  have  him  at  once  arrested. 


Biroris  Treason.  199 

Allow  him  no  time  to  communicate  with  your 
enemies." 

"  No,  Sully,  no  ;  I  cannot  do  that :  I  must  give  my 
old  friend  a  chance.  Of  his  treason,  there  is,  how- 
ever, no  question.  He  has  intrigued  for  years  with 
the  Duke  of  Savoy  and  with  Spain,  giving  out  as  his 
excuse  that  the  Catholic  faith  is  endangered  by  my 
heresy,  and  that  I  am  a  Calvinist.  He  has  entered 
into  a  treasonable  alliance  with  Bouillon  and  D'Au- 
vergne  ;  and  worse,  oh,  far  worse  than  all,  during  the 
campaign  in  Switzerland  he  commanded  the  battery 
of  St.  Catherine's  Fort  to  be  pointed  against  me. — 
God  knows  how  I  was  saved." 

"  Monstrous ! "  cries  Sully,  casting  up  his  hands. 
"And  your  Majesty  dallies  with  such  a  miscreant?" 

"  Yes,  I  can  make  excuses  for  him.  He  has  been 
irritated  against  me  by  the  base  insinuations  of  the 
Duke  of  Savoy.  Biron  is  vain,  hot-tempered,  and 
credulous.  I  know  every  detail.  He  shall  come 
here  to  Fontainebleau :  I  have  summoned  him. 
The  sight  of  his  old  master  will  melt  his  heart.  He 
will  confide  in  me;  he  will  confess,  and  I  shall 
pardon  him." 

"  I  trust  it  may  be  as  your  Majesty  wishes,"  an- 
swers Sully ;  "  but  you  are  playing  a  dangerous 
game,  Sire.  God  help  you  safe  out  of  it." 

Biron,  ignorant  of  the  treachery  of  Lafin,  arrives 
at  Fontainebleau.  He  reckons  on  the  King's  igno- 
rance and  their  old  friendship,  and  trusts  to  a  con- 
fident bearing  and  a  bold  denial  of  all  charges.  They 
meet — the  Marechal  and  the  King — in  the  great 
parterre,  where,  it  being  the  month  of  June,  sweetly 
scented  herbs  and  gay  flowers  fill  the  diamonded 


2OO  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

beds — under  the  lime  berccau  surrounding  the 
garden.  Biron,  perfectly  composed,  makes  three 
low  obeisances  to  the  King,  then  kisses  his  hand. 
Henry  salutes  him.  His  eyes  are  moist  as  he  looks 
at  him.  "You  have  done  well  to  confide  in  me," 
he  says;  "I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Biron,"  and 
he  passes  his  arm  round  the  Marshal's  neck,  and 
draws  him  off  to  describe  to  him  the  many  architec- 
tural plans  he  has  formed  for  the  embellishment  of 
the  chateau,  and  to  show  him  the  great  "gallery  of 
Diana  "  which  is  in  course  of  decoration.  He  hopes 
that  Biron  will  understand  his  feelings,  and  that 
kindness'will  tempt  him  to  confess  his  crime.  Biron, 
however,  is  convinced  that  if  he  braves  the  matter 
out,  he  will  escape ;  he  ascribes  Henry's  clemency 
to  an  infatuated  attachment  to  himself.  He  wears 
an  unruffled  brow,  is  cautious  and  plausible  though 
somewhat  silent,  carefully  avoids  all  topics  which 
might  lead  to  discussion  of  any  matters  touching  his 
conduct,  and  pointedly  disregards  the  hints  thrown 
out  from  time  to  time  by  the  King.  Henry  is 
miserable;  he  feels  he  must  arrest  the  Marechal. 
Sully  urges  him  to  lose  no  time.  Still  his  generous 
heart  longs  to  save  his  old  friend  and  companion  in 
arms. 

Towards  evening  the  Court  is  assembled  in  the 
great  saloon.  The  King  is  playing  a  game  of  pri- 
mero.  Biron  enters.  He  invites  him  to  join  ;  Biron 
accepts,  and  takes  up  the  cards  with  apparent 
unconcern.  The  King  watches  him  ;  is  silent  and 
absent,  and  makes  many  mistakes  in  the  game.  The 
clock  strikes  eleven,  Henry  rises,  and  taking  Biron 
by  the  arm,  leads  him  into  a  small  retiring-room  or 


B irons  Treason.  201 

cabinet  at  the  bottom  of  the  throne-room,  now  form- 
ing part  of  that  large  apartment.  The  King  closes 
the  door  carefully.  His  countenance  is  darkened 
by  excitement  and  anxiety.  His  manner  is  so  con- 
strained and  unnatural  that  Biron  begins  to  question 
himself  as  to  his  safety ;  still  he  sees  no  other  re- 
source but  to  brave  his  treason  out.  "  My  old  com- 
panion," says  the  King,  in  an  unsteady  voice,  standing 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  "  you  and  I  are  country- 
men ;  we  have  known  each  other  from  boyhood. 
We  were  playfellows.  I  was  then  the  poor  Prince 
de  Beam,  and  you,  Biron,  a  cadet  of  Gontaut.  Our 
fortunes  have  changed  since  then.  I  am  a  great 
king,  and  you  are  a  Duke  and  Marechal  of  France." 
Biron  bows ;  his  confident  bearing  does  not  fail 
him. 

"  Now,  Biron,"  and  Henry's  good-natured  face 
grows  stern — "  I  iiave  called  you  here  to  say,  that  if 
you  do  not  instantly  confess  the  truth  (and  all  the 
truth,  instantly,  mind),  you  will  repent  it  bitterly.  I 
was  in  hopes  you  would  have  done  so  voluntarily, 
but  you  have  not. — Now  I  can  wait  no  longer." 

"  Sire,  I  have  not  failed  in  my  duty,"  replies  Biron 
haughtily  ;  "  I  have  nothing  to  confess  ;  you  do  me 
injustice." 

"  Alas,  my  old  friend,  this  denial  does  not  avail 
you.  I  know  all !  " — and  Henry  sighs  and  fixes  his 
eyes  steadfastly  upon  him.  "  I  conjure  you  to  make 
a  voluntary  confession.  Spare  me  the  pain  of  your 
public  trial.  I  have  kept  the  matter  purposely  secret. 
I  will  not  disgrace  you,  if  possible." 

"  Sire,"  answers  Biron,  with  a  well-simulated  air  of 
offended  dignity.  "  I  have  already  said  I  have  noth- 


202  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

ing  to  confess.  I  can  only  beseech  your  Majesty  to 
confront  me  with  my  accusers." 

"  That  cannot  be  done  without  public  disgrace — 
without  danger  to  your  life,  Marechal.  Come, 
Biron,"  he  adds,  in  a  softer  tone,  and  turning  his 
eyes  upon  him  where  he  stands  before  him,  dogged 
and  obstinate  ;  "  come,  my  old  friend,  believe  me, 
every  detail  is  known  to  me ;  your  life  is  in  my 
hand." 

"  Sire,  you  will  never  have  any  other  answer  from 
me.  Where  are  my  accusers  ?" 

"Avow  all,  Biron,  fearlessly,"  continues  Henry,  in 
the  same  tone,  as  if  not  hearing  him.  "  Open  your 
heart  to  me  ; — I  can  make  allowances  for  you,  per- 
chance many  allowances.  You  have  been  told  lies, 
you  have  been  sorely  tempted.  Open  your  heart, — 
I  will  screen  you." 

"  Sire,  my  heart  is  true.  Remember  it  was  I  who 
first  proclaimed  you  king,  when  you  had  not  a  dozen 
followers  at  Saint-Cloud,"  Biron  speaks  with  firm- 
ness, but  avoids  the  piercing  glance  of  the  King;  "  I 
shall  be  happy  to  answer  any  questions,  but  I  have 
nothing  to  confess." 

"  Venire  Saint  Gris  !  "  cries  Henry,  reddening,  "  are 
you  mad  ?  Confess  at  once — make  haste  about  it. 
If  you  do  not,  I  swear  by  the  crown  I  wear  to  con- 
vict you  publicly  as  a  felon  and  a  traitor.  But  I 
would  save  you,  Marechal, "adds  Henry  in  an  altered 
voice,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  God  knows  I 
would  save  you,  if  you  will  let  me.  Pardieu  !  I  will 
forgive  you  all !  "  he  exclaims,  in  an  outburst  of 
generous  feeling. 

"  Sire,  I  can  only  reply — confront  me    with  my 


Birori s  Treason.  203 

accusers.  I  am  your  Majesty's  oldest  friend.  I  have 
no  desire  but  the  service  of  your  Majesty." 

"Would  to  God  it  were  so  !  "  exclaims  the  King, 
turning  upon  Biron  a  look  of  inexpressible  compas- 
sion. Then  moving  towards  the  door  he  opens  it, 
and  looks  back  at  Biron,  who  still  stands  where  he 
has  left  him,  with  his  arms  crossed,  in  the  centre  of 
the  room.  "  Adieu,  Baron  de  Biron  !  " — and  the 
King  emphasises  the  word  "  Baron,"  his  original 
title  before  he  had  received  titles  and  honours — 
"  adieu  !  I  would  have  saved  you  had  you  let  me — 
your  blood  be  on  your  own  head."  The  door  closed 
—Henry  was  gone. 

Biron  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  passed  his  hand 
over  his  brow,  which  was  moist  with  perspiration, 
and  prepared  to  follow. 

As  he  was  passing  the  threshold,  Vitry,  the 
Captain  of  the  Guard,  seized  him  by  the  shoulder, 
and  wrenched  his  sword  from  its  scabbard.  "  I 
arrest  you,  Due  de  Biron !  " 

Biron  staggered,  and  looked  up  with  astonishment. 
"  This  must  be  some  jest,  Vitry  !  " 

"  No  jest,  monseigneur.  In  the  King's  name,  you 
are  my  prisoner." 

"  As  a  peer  of  France,  I  claim  my  right  to  speak 
with  his  Majesty !  "  cried  Biron,  loudly.  "  Lead  me 
to  the  King  !  " 

"  No,  Duke  ;  the  King  is  gone — his  Majesty  re- 
fuses to  see  you  again.' 

Once  in  the  hands  of  justice,  Biron  vainly  solicited 
the  pardon  which  Henry  would  gladly  have  granted. 
He  was  arraigned  before  the  parliament,  convicted 
of  treason,  and  beheaded  at  the  Bastille  privately, 


204  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

the  only  favour  he  could  obtain  from  the  master  he 
had  betrayed. 

The  pleasant  days  are  now  long  past  when  Henry 
wandered,  disguised  as  a  Spaniard  or  a  peasant, 
together  with  Bellegarde  and  Chicot,  in  search  of 
adventures — when  he  braved  the  enemy  to  meet 
Gabrielle,  and  escaped  the  ambuscades  of  the  League 
by  a  miracle.  He  lives  principally  at  the  Louvre, 
and  is  always  surrounded  by  a  brilliant  Court.  He 
has  grown  clumsy  and  round-shouldered,  and  shows 
much  of  the  Gascon  swagger  in  his  gait.  He  is 
coarse-featured  and  red-faced  ;  his  hair  is  white  ;  his 
nose  seems  longer — in  a  word,  he  is  uglier  than  ever. 
His  manners  are  rougher,  and  he  is  still  more  free  of 
tongue.  There  is  a  senile  leer  in  his  eyes,  peering 
from  under  the  tuft  of  feathers  that  rests  on  the 
brim  of  his  felt  hat,  as  cane  in  hand,  he  passes  from 
group  to  group  of  deeply  curtseying  beauties  in  the 
galleries  of  the  Louvre.  He  has  neither  the  chivalric 
bearing  of  Francis  I.,  nor  the  refined  elegance  of  the 
Valois  Princes.  Beginning  with  his  first  wife,  "  la 
reine  Margot,"  the  most  fascinating,  witty,  and  de- 
praved princess  of  her  day,  his  experience  of  the  sex 
has  been  various.  The  only  woman  who  really  loved 
him  was  poor  Gabrielle,  and  to  her  alone  he  had 
been  tolerably  constant.  Her  influence  over  him 
was  gentle  and  humane,  and,  although  she  sought 
to  legalise  their  attachment  by  marriage,  she  was 
singularly  free  from  pride  or  personal  ambition. 

Now  she  is  dead.  He  has  wedded  a  new  wife, 
Marie  de'  Medici,  whose  ample  charms  and  imperious 
ways  are  little  to  his  taste.  "  We  have  married  you, 


Biroris  Treason.  205 

Sire,"  said  Sully  to  him,  entering  his  room  one  day, 
bearing  the  marriage  contract  in  his  hand,  "  you  have 
only  to  affix  your  signature."  "  Well,  well,"  Henry 
had  replied,  "  so  be  it.  If  the  good  of  France  de- 
mands it,  I  will  marry."  Nevertheless,  he  had  bitten 
his  nails  furiously  and  stamped  up  and  down  the 
room  for  some  hours,  like  a  man  possessed.  Ever 
reckless  of  consequences,  he  consoles  himself  by 
plunging  deeper  than  ever  into  a  series  of  intrigues 
which  compromise  his  dignity  and  create  endless 
difficulties  and  dangers. 

What  complicated  matters  was  his  readiness  to 
promise  marriage.  He  would  have  had  more  wives 
than  our  Henry  VIII.  could  he  have  made  good  all 
his  engagements.  Gabrielle  would  have  been  his 
queen  in  a  few  weeks  had  not  the  subtle  poison  of 
Zametti,  the  Italian  usurer,  cleared  her  from  the 
path  of  the  Florentine  bride.  Even  in  the  short  in- 
terval between  her  death  and  the  landing  of  Marie 
de'  Medici  at  Marseilles,  he  had  yielded  to  the  wiles 
of  Henriette  de  Balsacd'Entragues,  half-sister  to  the 
Comte  d'Auvergne,  son  of  Charles  IX.,  and  had 
given  her  a  formal  promise  of  marriage. 

Henriette  cared  only  for  the  sovereign,  not  for  the 
man,  who  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  In  the 
glory  of  youth  and  insolence  of  beauty,  stealthy, 
clever,  and  remorseless,  a  finished  coquette  and  a 
reckless  intrigante,  she  allured  him  into  signing  a 
formal  contract  of  marriage,  affianced  though  he  was 
to  a  powerful  princess  proposed  by  the  reigning 
Pontiff,  whose  good-will  it  was  important  to  the 
King,  always  a  cold  Catholic,  to  secure. 

The  new  favourite  claimed  to  be  of  royal  blood 


206  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

through  her  mother,  Marie  Touchet,  and,  therefore, 
a  fitting  consort  for  the  King.  She  showed  her 
"marriage  lines"  to  every  one — did  not  hesitate  to 
assert  that  she,  not  Marie  de'  Medici,  was  the  lawful 
wife  ;  that  the  King  would  shortly  acknowledge  her 
as  such,  and  send  the  Queen  back  whence  she  came, 
together  with  the  hated  Concini,  her  chamber- 
women  and  secretary,  along  with  all  the  jesters  and 
mountebanks  who  had  come  with  her  from  Italy. 
Endless  complications  ensued  with  the  new  Queen. 
Quarrels,  recriminations,  and  reproaches  ran  so  high 
that  Marie  on  one  occasion  struck  the  King  in  the 
face.  Henry  was  disgusted  with  her  ill-temper,  but 
was  too  generous  either  to  coerce  or  to  control  her. 
Her  Italian  confidants,  Concini  and  his  wife,  however, 
made  capital  of  these  dissensions  to  incense  Marie 
violently  against  her  husband,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  gain  influence  over  herself.  Henry  was  watched, 
— no  very  difficult  undertaking,  as  he  had  assigned  a 
magnificent  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Louvre  to  his  new 
mistress,  between  whose  apartments  and  those  of  the 
wife  there  was  but  a  single  corridor. 

Henrietta  meanwhile  lived  with  all  the  pomp  of  a 
sovereign  ;  there  were  feasts  at  Zametti's,  balls,  and 
jousts,  and  hunting-parties  at  Saint-Germain  and 
Fontainebleau.  Foreign  ambassadors  and  ministers 
scoured  the  country  after  the  King  ;  so  engaged 
was  he  in  pleasure  and  junketing. 


A  Court  Marriage.  207 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A     COURT     MARRIAGE. 

THE  great  gallery  of  the  Louvre  is  just  com- 
pleted. It  is  on  the  first  floor,  and  approached 
through  a  circular  hall  with  a  fine  mosaic  floor;  it 
has  painted  walls  and  a  vaulted  ceiling.  The 
gallery  is  lighted  by  twelve  lofty  windows  looking 
towards  the  quays  and  the  river,  which  glitters 
without  in  the  morning  sun.  Every  inch  of  this 
sumptuous  apartment  is  painted  and  laden  with 
gilding;  the  glittering  ceiling  rests  upon  a  cornice, 
where  Henry's  initials  are  blended  with  those  of  the 
dead  Gabrielle.  A  crowd  of  lords-in-waiting  and 
courtiers  walk  up  and  down,  loll  upon  settees,  or 
gather  in  groups  within  the  deep  embrasures  of  the 
windows,  to  discuss  in  low  tones  the  many  scandals 
of  the  day,  as  they  await  his  Majesty's  lover.  Pres- 
ently Marechal  Bassompierre  enters.  Bassompierre, 
the  friend  and  confidant  of  Henry,  as  great  a  liber- 
tine as  his  master,  who  has  left  behind  him  a  minute 
chronicle  of  his  life,  is  a  tall,  burly  man  ;  his  face  is 
bronzed  by  the  long  campaigns  against  the  League, 
and  his  bearing  as  he  moves  up  and  down,  his  sword 
clanging  upon  the  polished  floor,  has  more  of  the 
swagger  of  the  camp  than  the  refinement  of  the 
Court.  He  wears  the  uniform  of  the  Musketeers 
who  guard  the  person  of  the  King,  and  on  his  broad 
breast  is  the  ribbon  of  the  Order  of  the  "  Saint- 
Esprit."  He  is  joined  by  the  Due  de  Roquelaure. 
Now  Roquelaure  is  an  effeminate-looking  man,  a 


208  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

gossip  and  a  dandy,  the  retailer  of  the  latest  scandal, 
the  block  upon  which  the  newest  fashions  are  tried. 
He  wears  a  doublet  of  rose-coloured  Florence  satin 
quilted  with  silk,  stiff  with  embroidery  and  sown 
with  seed-pearls.  The  sleeves  are  slashed  with  cloth 
of  silver ;  a  golden  chain,  with  a  huge  medallion 
set  in  diamonds,  hangs  round  his  neck.  Placed 
jauntily  over  his  ear  is  a  velvet  cap  with  a  jewelled 
clasp  and  white  ostrich  plume.  Broad  golden  lace 
borders  his  hose,  and  high-heeled  Cordovan  boots — 
for  he  desires  to  appear  tall — of  amber  leather,  with 
huge  golden  spurs,  complete  his  attire.  Being  a 
man  of  low  stature — a  pigmy  beside  the  Marshal — 
as  the  sun  streams  upon  him  from  the  broad  window- 
panes,  he  looks  like  a  gaudy  human  butterfly. 

"  Well,  Bassompierre,"  says  the  Duke  eagerly, 
standing  on  the  points  of  his  toes,  "  is  it  true  that 
your  marriage  with  the  incomparable  Charlotte  de 
Montmorenci  is  broken  off?  " 

Bassompierre  bows  his  head  in  silence,  and  a  sor- 
rowful look  passes  over  his  jovial  face. 

"  Pardicn  !  Marshal,  for  a  rejected  lover  you  seem 
well  and  hearty.  Are  you  going  to  break  your  heart, 
or  the  Prince  of  Conde's  head — eh,  Marshal  ?  " 

A  malicious  twinkle  gathers  in  Roquelaure's  eye, 
for  there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  to  a  man  of  his 
inches  in  seeing  a  giant  like  Bassompierre  unsuc- 
cessful. 

"  Neither,  Duke,"  replies  Bassompierre  drily.  "  I 
shall  in  this  matter,  as  in  all  others,  submit  myself 
to  his  Majesty's  pleasure." 

"  Mighty  well  spoken,  Marshal ;  you  are  a  perfect 
model  of  our  court  virtue.  But  how  can  a  worshipper 


A  Court  Marriage.  209 

of  '  the  great  Alexander/  at  the  court  of  '  Lutetia,' 
in  the  very  presence  of  the  divine  Millegarde,  the 
superb  Dorinda,  and  all  the  attendant  knights  and 
ladies,  tolerate  the  affront,  the  dishonour  of  a  public 
rejection  ?  "  And  Roquelaure  takes  out  an  enam- 
elled snuff-box,  taps  it,  and  with  a  pinch  of  scented 
snuff  between  fingers  covered  with  rings  awaits  a 
reply.  "  Not  but  that  any  gentleman,"  continues 
he,  receiving  no  answer,  "  who  marries  the  fair 
Montmorenci  will  have  perforce  to  submit  to  his 
Majesty's  pleasure — eh,  Marshal,  you  understand  ?  " 
and  Roquelaure  takes  his  pinch  of  snuff  and  dusts 
his  perfumed  beard. 

"  I  cannot  allow  the  lady  to  be  made  a  subject  for 
idle  gossip,  Duke,"  replies  Bassompierre,  drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height  and  eying  the  other 
grimly.  "  Although  I  am  not  to  have  the  honour 
of  being  her  husband,  her  good  name  is  as  dear  to 
me  as  before." 

"  But,  morbleu  !  who  blames  the  lady  ?  " 

"  Not  I — I  never  blamed  a  lady  in  my  life,  let  her 
do  what  she  may — it  is  my  creed  of  honour.' 

"  But  his  Majesty's  passion  for  her  is  so  uncon- 
cealed. Perhaps,  Marshal,  the  King  understood  that 
this  marriage  must  break  up  your  ancient  friend- 
ship? " 

Bassompierre  scowls,  but  makes  no  reply. 

"  The  King  has  grown  young  again,"  continues 
Roquelaure.  "  Our  noble  Henri  Quatre, — he  orders 
new  clothes  every  day,  wears  embroidered  collars, 
sleeves  of  carnation  satin — (I  brought  in  the  mode)  " 
and  he  glances  at  his  own — "  and  scents  and  per- 
fumes his  hair  and  beard.  We  are  to  have  another 

VOL.  I.  — 14 


2 1  o  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

tournament  to-morrow  in  honour  of  the  marriage  of 
the  Prince  de  Conde — in  reality  to  show  off  a  suit 
of  armour  his  Majesty  has  received  from  Milan. 
Will  you  have  the  heart  to  be  present,  Marshal?" 

"Yes,  Duke,  I  shall  attend  his  Majesty  as  usual," 
replies  Bassompierre,  turning  away  with  an  offended 
air. 

"  Come,  Marshal,  between  such  old  friends  as  you 
and  I  these  airs  of  distance  are  absurd  "  ;  and  the 
Duke  lays  his  hand  on  the  other's  arm  to  detain  him. 
"Own  to  me  honestly  that  this  marriage  with  the 
Prince  de  Conde  gives  you  great  concern — 

Bassompierre  hangs  down  his  head  and  plays  with 
his  sword-knot.  "  I  should  have  desired  a  better 
husband  for  her,  truly,"  answers  he  in  a  low  voice. 
"  The  Prince  is  a  shabby  fellow,  with  an  evil  temper. 
I  fear  Mademoiselle  de  Montmorenci  can  never 
affect  him,"  and  a  deep  sigh  escapes  him. 

"  Never,  never,"  rejoins  Roquelaure,  looking  round 
to  note  who  arrives,  "  it  is  an  ill-assorted  union. 
You,  Bassompierre,  would  have  loved  her  well.  It 
was  possible  she  might  have  reformed  your  manners. 
Ha  !  I  have  you  there,  Marshal.  Pardon  my  joke," 
adds  he,  as  he  sees  a  dark  scowl  again  gathering  on 
the  Marshal's  face.  "  But  Conde',  the  rtistre,  he  hates 
women — I  never  saw  him  address  one  in  his  life ;  a 
cold,  austere  fellow,  as  solitary  as  an  owl ;  a  miser, 
and  silent  too — if  he  does  speak  he  is  rude  and  un- 
gracious ;  and  with  the  temper  of  a  fiend.  If  he  does 
right,  it  is  only  through  obstinacy.  I  am  told  he 
suspects  the  lady  already,  and  has  set  spies  to  watch 
her.  A  pretty  match  for  the  fair  Montmorenci 
truly,  who  has  lived  with  a  sovereign  at  her  feet." 


A  Court  Marriage.  2 1 1 

"  Duke,"  cries  Bassompierre  fiercely,  secretly  writh- 
ing under  the  Duke's  malicious  probing  of  a  heart- 
wound  which  still  bled,  "  I  have  already  observed 
that  any  inuendoes  touching  Mademoiselle  de  Mont- 
morenci  displease  me." 

"  Inuendoes  !  why,  Marshal,  even  Cond6  confessed 
the  other  day  that  rich  as  was  the  prize,  and  sur- 
passing the  lady,  he  hesitated  to  accept  '  one  whom 
the  King's  attention  had  made  so  notorious  !  ' ' 

Bassompierre's  eyes  flash.  He  is  about  to  make 
an  angry  rejoinder  when  a  page  approaches  and 
summons  them  to  attend  his  Majesty. 

The  marriage  between  Charlotte  de  Montmorenci 
and  the  Prince  de  Cond£  was,  as  had  been  antici- 
pated, a  failure.  Conde,  devoured  by  jealousy,  shut 
up  his  wife  at  Chantilly,  or  at  the  still  more  remote 
Chateau  of  Muret.  The  petted  beauty,  accustomed 
to  the  incense  of  a  Court  and  the  avowed  admiration 
of  an  infatuated  sovereign,  scolded  and  wept,  but  in 
vain.  The  more  bitterly  they  quarrelled,  the  more 
deep  and  dangerous  became  Condi's  enmity  to 
Henry.  Disloyalty  was  the  tradition  of  his  race, 
rebellious  practices  with  Spain  the  habit  of  his  house. 
We  have  seen  how  a  Cond£  was  ready  to  usurp  the 
throne  under  pretence  of  a  Regency,  during  the 
conflict  with  the  Huguenots  at  Amboise.  His  son, 
"  the  great  CondeY '  is  by-and-by  to  head  the  standard 
of  revolt,  and  at  the  head  of  Spanish  troops  to  bring 
France  to  the  brink  of  ruin.  Avarice  had  led  him 
to  accept  the  hand  of  Charlotte  de  Montmorenci 
— avarice  and  poverty — and  he  had  counted  upon 
constant  espionage  and  absence  from  Court  as  suffi- 
cient precautions.  But  he  was  young:  he  had  yet 


2 1 2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

to  learn  the  wilfulness  of  his  wife  and  the  audacity 
of  the  King.  As  he  gradually  discovered  that  the 
Princess  was  neither  to  be  soothed  nor  coerced,  his 
rage  knew  no  bounds.  Sully,  seriously  alarmed  at 
the  rumours  that  reached  him  respecting  the  Prince's 
language,  requested  a  visit  from  him  at  the  Arsenal. 

Sully  is  seated  in  a  sombre  closet — looking  towards 
the  towers  of  Notre-Dame — at  a  table  covered  with 
papers.  Conde  is  tall,  thin,  and  slightly  made.  He 
is  singularly  ill-favoured,  with  dark  hair  and  swarthy 
skin,  a  nose  quite  out  of  proportion  with  the  rest  of 
his  face,  and  a  sinister  expression  in  his  eyes.  On 
entering  he  cannot  conceal  his  uneasiness. 

"  Be  seated,  monseigneur,"  says  Sully,  scanning 
him  from  under  his  heavy  eyebrows.  "  I  have  no 
time  to  spare — therefore  I  must  use  plain  words. 
You  speak  of  the  King  my  master  in  terms  that  do 
you  little  credit.  You  are  playing  the  devil,  Prince. 
The  King's  patience  is  well-nigh  exhausted.  I  am 
commanded  to  keep  back  the  payment  of  the  pension 
you  receive  to  mark  his  Majesty's  displeasure.  If  this 
has  no  effect  upon  you,  other  means  must  be  tried." 

While  Sully  speaks,  Cond£  sits  opposite  to  him 
unmoved,  save  that  his  dark  face  hardens,  and  he 
fixes  his  sullen  eyes  steadfastly  upon  Sully. 

"  If  I  am  what  you  say,"  replies  he  at  last  dog- 
gedly, "  if  I  speak  ill  of  his  Majesty,  am  I  not 
justified  ?  He  is  determined  to  ruin  me.  He  perse- 
cutes me  because  I  choose  to  keep  my  wife  in  the 
country.  It  is  my  desire  to  leave  France — then  I 
shall  no  longer  give  his  Majesty  offence." 

"  Impossible,  monseigneur  !  As  a  Prince  of  the 
blood  your  place  is  at  Court,  beside  the  Sovereign." 


A  Court  Marriage.  2 1 3 

"What!  have  I  not  liberty  even  to  visit  my  own 
sister,  the  Princess  of  Orange,  at  Breda,  in  company 
with  the  Princess,  my  wife  ?  That  can  be  no  affront 
to  his  Majesty.  Surely,  Monsieur  de  Sully,  you 
cannot  advise  the  King  to  refuse  so  reasonable  a 
request  ?  " 

"  I  shall  advise  him  to  refuse  it,  monseigneur, 
nevertheless.  Persons  of  your  rank  cannot  leave  the 
kingdom — the  very  act  is  treason." 

Conde  casts  up  his  eyes,  and  his  hands — 

"  Was  ever  a  man  so  ill  used  ?  My  personal  liberty 
denied  me  !  My  very  allowance  stopped  !  " 

"  It  is  said,  Prince,  that  you  have  plenty  of  Spanish 
doubloons  at  Chantilly,"  returns  Sully  significantly. 

"  It  is  false — tales  to  ruin  me.  Ever  since  my  mar- 
riage I  have  been  pursued  by  informers.  It  was  by 
his  Majesty's  command  I  married.  Now  he  desires 
to  seduce  my  wife — that  is  the  truth.  If  I  appear 
ungrateful,  there  is  my  reason." 

"  His  Majesty  assures  me,  Prince,"  breaks  in  Sully, 
"  that  his  sentiments  towards  your  illustrious  consort 
are  those  of  a  father." 

"  A  father !  Why,  then,  does  he  come  disguised  to 
Chantilly?  He  has  been  seen  hiding  in  the  woods 
there  and  at  Muret.  A  pretty  father,  indeed  !  By 
the  grace  of  God,  I  will  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  no 
such  a  father.  It  is  a  thraldom  unbecoming  my 
birth,  my  position,  and  my  honour  !  While  the  King 
acts  thus  I  will  not  come  to  Court,  to  be  an  object 
of  pity  and  contempt  !  " 

"  You  speak  of  tyranny,  Prince,  towards  yourself. 
It  may  be  well  for  your  highness  to  consider,  how- 
ever, that  the  King,  my  master,  has  to  a  certain 


214  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

extent  justified  your  accusation."  Conde  looks  up 
at  him  keenly.  "  But  it  is  tyranny  exercised  in  your 
favour,  Monsieur  le  Prince,  not  to  your  prejudice." 

Sully 's  eyes  are  bent  upon  the  Prince.  While  he 
speaks  a  half  smile  flitters  about  his  mouth. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Duke.  Explain  your- 
self," replies  Conde,  with  real  or  affected  ignorance; 
but  something  in  the  expression  of  Sully's  face 
caused  him  to  drop  the  tone  of  bravado  he  had 
hitherto  assumed. 

"  His  Majesty,  Prince,  has  justified  your  accusation 
of  tyranny  by  having  hitherto  insisted,  nay  even 
compelled,  those  about  him  to  acknowledge  you — 
well — for  what  you  are  not  /" 

Conde  almost  bounds  from  his  seat.  There  was  a 
horrible  suspicion  that  his  mother  had  shortened  his 
father's  life,  and  this  suspicion  had  cast  doubts 
upon  his  legitimacy. 

Sully  sits  back  in  his  chair  and  contemplates 
Cond£  at  his  ease. 

"  Your  highness  will,  I  think,  do  well  for  the  future 
to  consider  how  much  you  owe  to  his  Majesty's 
bounty  in  many  ways."  And  these  last  words  are 
strongly  emphasised.  Conde  is  silent.  "  Again,  I 
say,  as  your  highness  is  fortunately  accepted  as  a 
Prince  of  the  blood,  you  must  bear  the  penalties  of 
this  high  position." 

Conde,  who  has  turned  ashy  pale,  rises  with  diffi- 
culty— he  even  holds  the  table  for  support. 

"  Have  you  more  to  say  to  me,  Due  de  Sully,  or 
is  our  interview  ended  ?  " 

He  speaks  in  a  suppressed  voice,  and  looks  care- 
worn and  haggard. 


The  Prediction  Fulfilled.  2 1 5 

"  Monseigneur,  I  have  now  only  to  thank  you  for 
the  honour  you  have  done  me  in  coming  here/'  re- 
plies Sully,  rising,  a  malicious  smile  upon  his  face. 
"  I  commend  to  your  consideration  the  remarks  I 
have  had  the  honour  to  make  to  you.  Believe  me, 
you  owe  everything  to  the  King,  my  master." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THE   PREDICTION    FULFILLED. 

HENRY  was  seated  in  his  closet  playing  at  cards, 
with  Bassompierre,  the  Comtes  de  Soissons, 
Cceuvres,  and  Monseigneur  de  Lorraine.  It  was  late, 
and  the  game  was  almost  concluded,  when  Monsieur 
d'Ellene,  a  gentleman-in-waiting,  entered  hurriedly, 
and  whispered  something  in  the  King's  ear.  In  an 
instant  Henry's  face  expressed  the  utmost  consterna- 
tion. He  threw  down  his  cards,  clenched  his  fists 
with  passion,  and  rose  hastily  ;  then,  leaning  over 
upon  Bassompierre's  shoulder,  who  sat  next  to  him, 
he  said  in  a  low  voice — 

"  Marshal,  I  am  lost.  Conde  has  fled  with  his  wife 
into  the  woods.  God  knows  whether  he  means  to 
murder  her,  or  carry  her  out  of  France.  Take  care 
of  my  cards.  Go  on  playing.  I  must  learn  more 
particulars.  Do  the  same,  and  follow  me  as  soon 
as  you  can."  And  he  left  the  room. 

But  the  sudden  change  in  the  King's  face  and 
manner  had  spread  alarm  in  the  circle.  No  one 
would  play  any  more,  and  Bassompierre  was  assailed 


216  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

with  eager  questions.  He  was  obliged  to  reply  that 
he  believed  the  Prince  de  Conde  had  left  France. 
At  this  astounding  news  every  tongue  was  let  loose. 
Bassompierre  then  retired,  and  after  having  made 
himself  master  of  every  particular,  joined  the  King, 
in  order  to  inform  him.  Henry  listened  with  horror 
to  Bassompierre's  narrative.  Meanwhile,  late  as  it 
was  (midnight),  he  commanded  a  council  of  state  to 
be  called.  The  ministers  assembled  as  quickly  as 
was  possible.  There  were  present  the  Chancellor, 
the  President  Jeannin,  Villeroy,  and  the  Comtes  de 
Cceuvres  and  De  Cremail.  Henry  hastily  seated 
himself  at  the  top  of  the  table. 

"  Well,  Chancellor,  well, — you  have  heard  this 
dreadful  news,"  said  he,  addressing  him.  "  The  poor 
young  Princess  !  What  is  your  advice?  How  can 
we  save  her?" 

Bellievre,  a  grave  lawyer,  looked  astounded  at  the 
King's  vehemence. 

"  Surely,  Sire,  you  cannot  apprehend  any  personal 
danger  to  the  illustrious  lady  ?  "  said  he,  with  hesita- 
tion. "  The  Princesse  de  Conde  is  with  her  husband, 
he  will  doubtless  act  as  is  fitting." 

"  Ventre  Saint  Gris  /  "  cried  the  King,  boiling 
with  passion.  "  I  want  no  comments — the  remedy. 
What  is  the  remedy?  How  can  we  rescue  her?" 

"  Well,  Sire,  if  you  have  reason  to  misdoubt  the 
good  faith  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  if  her  highness 
be  in  any  danger,  you  must  issue  edicts,  proclaim 
fines,  and  denounce  all  persons  who  harbour  and 
abet  him ;  but  I  would  advise  your  Majesty  to 
pause." 

Henry  turned  away  with  a  violent  gesture. 


The  Prediction  Fulfilled.  217 

"  Now,  Villeroy,  speak.  If  the  Princess  is  out  of 
the  kingdom,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty  can  do  nothing  then  but  through 
your  ambassadors.  Representation  must  be  made 
to  the  Court  of  the  country  whither  the  Prince  has 
fled.  You  must  demand  the  Prince's  restitution  as 
a  rebel." 

The  King  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  infinite  dis- 
gust. Such  slow  measures  little  suited  his  impetuous 
humour. 

"  Now,  President  Jeannin,"  said  Henry,  "  let  us 
hear  your  opinion.  These  other  counsels  are  too 
lengthy.  God  knows  what  mischief  may  ere  this 
have  happened." 

"  I  advise  your  Majesty,"  replied  the  President, 
"  to  send  a  trusty  officer  after  the  Prince  and  bring 
him  back  along  with  his  wife,  if  within  the  realm. 
He  is  doubtless  on  his  way  to  Flanders.  If  he  has 
passed  the  frontier,  the  Archduke,  who  would  not 
willingly  offend  your  Majesty,  will,  doubtless,  dismiss 
the  Prince  at  your  desire." 

Henry  nodded  his  head  approvingly,  and  turned 
quickly  round  to  issue  orders  at  once  to  follow  this 
advice,  which  suited  the  urgency  of  the  case ;  all  at 
once  he  remembered  that  Sully  was  not  present,  and 
he  hesitated. 

"  Where  is  Sully  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  Monsieur  de  Praslin,"  replied  Bassompierre,  who 
had  just  left  him,  "  has  been  again  despatched  to 
fetch  him  from  the  Arsenal ;  but  he  is  not  yet 
arrived." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Sully  ap- 
peared. It  was  evident  that  he  was  in  one  of  his 


218  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

surliest  moods.  Henry,  preoccupied  as  he  was, 
observed  this,  and,  fearing  some  outburst,  dismissed 
the  Council  and  Bassompierre,  and  carefully  shut 
the  door." 

"  Sully,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  By  the  mass !  that 
monster,  my  nephew,  has  fled,  and  carried  off  my 
dear  Charlotte  with  him  ! 

This  was  not,  as  has  been  seen,  the  first  time  that 
the  grave  statesman  Sully  had  been  consulted  in  his 
master's  love  affairs.  He  had  passed  very  many 
hours  in  endeavouring  to  cajole  Henriette  d'Entra- 
gues  to  give  up  the  fatal  marriage  contract  signed 
by  the  King;  he  had  all  but  quarrelled  with  his 
master  in  opposing  his  marriage  with  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees ;  and  he  had  been  called  up  in  the  dead 
of  night  to  remonstrate  with  the  Queen  when,  in 
consequence  of  a  violent  quarrel,  she  had  sworn  that 
she  would  leave  the  Louvre.  Sully,  like  the  King, 
had  grown  old,  and  was  tired  of  acting  adviser  to  a 
headstrong  master,  whose  youthful  follies  never 
seemed  to  end.  Now  he  gave  a  grunt  of  disapproval. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,  Sire.  I  told  you  the  Prince 
would  go.  If  he  went  himself,  it  was  not  likely  he 
would  leave  his  wife  behind  him — was  it  ?  That 
would  have  been  too  complaisant  in  his  highness.  If 
you  wanted  to  secure  him,  you  should  have  shut  him 
up  in  the  Bastille." 

"  Sully,  this  raillery  is  ill-timed.  I  am  distressed 
beyond  all  words.  The  Princess  is  in  an  awful  pre- 
dicament. Laperriere's  son  brought  the  news.  His 
father  was  their  guide.  He  left  them  in  the  middle 
of  a  dismal  forest.  He  shall  be  paid  a  mine  of  gold 
for  his  information." 


The  Prediction  Fulfilled.  2 1 9 

Sully  shook  his  head  and  cast  up  his  hands. 

"  God  help  us  !  "  muttered  he. 

"  Never  was  anything  more  dreadful/'  continued 
the  King.  "  My  beloved  Charlotte  was  lured  from 
Muret  under  the  pretence  of  a  hunting-party.  She 
was  to  be  carried  to  the  rendezvous  in  a  coach.  The 
dear  creature  started  before  daylight,  says  Laper- 
riere's  son,  and  as  the  morning  broke,  found  herself 
in  a  strange  part  of  the  country — in  a  plain  far  from 
the  forest.  She  stopped  the  coach,  and  called  to 
Virrey,  who  rode  by  the  door,  and  asked  him  whither 
they  were  going?  Virrey,  confused,  said  he  would 
ride  on  and  ask  the  Prince,  who  was  in  advance,  lead- 
ing the  way,  the  cowardly  scoundrel !  "  and  Henry 
shook  his  fist  in  the  air.  "  My  nephew  came  up, 
and  told  her  she  was  on  her  road  to  Breda,  upon 
which  the  sweet  soul  screamed  aloud,  says  Laper- 
riere,  and  lamented,  entreating  to  be  allowed  to 
return.  But  that  ruffian,  Conde,  rode  off  and  left 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  bidding  the  driver 
push  forward.  At  last  they  came  to  Coucy,  where 
they  changed  horses.  Just  as  they  were  about  again 
to  start  the  coach  broke  down." 

"  Praised  be  God  !"  ejaculated  Sully.  "  I  hope  no 
one  was  found  to  mend  it." 

"  Sully,  I  believe  you  are  without  heart  or  feel- 
ing," cried  the  King,  reproachfully. 

"  Not  at  all,  Sire  ;  but  my  heart  and  my  feelings 
also  are  with  your  Majesty,  not  with  the  Princess. 
Proceed,  Sire,  with  this  touching  narrative." 

"  Conde  then,  says  Laperriere,  the  night  beginning 
to  fall,  purchased  a  pillion  at  Cougy,  and  mounted 
his  wife  behind  him  on  horseback."  Sully  shook 


22O  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

with  laughter  ;  but  fearing  to  offend  his  master,  sup- 
pressed it  as  well  as  he  could.  "  Her  two  attendants 
mounted  behind  two  of  the  suite,  the  guides  being  in 
advance.  It  rained  heavily.  Pardieu  !  I  can  hardly 
bear  to  speak  of  it.  My  dear  Charlotte  in  such  a 
condition  !  The  night  was  dark ;  but  Conde  rode 
on  like  a  devil  incarnate  to  Castellin,  the  first  village 
across  the  frontier.  When  she  was  taken  down, 
Charlotte  fainted."  The  tears  ran  down  Henry's 
cheeks  as  he  said  this.  "  She  fainted  ;  and  then 
Laperriere,  convinced  of  some  treason  on  the  part 
of  my  nephew,  despatched  his  son  to  tell  me  these 
particulars.  Now,  Sully,"  and  the  King  rose  sud- 
denly and  seized  his  hand,  shaking  off  the  sorrow 
that  had  overcome  him  during  the  narrative,  "  now 
tell  me,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  would  lose  my  Crown 
rather  than  not  succour  her." 

"  Do  nothing,  Sire,"  replied  Sully  quietly. 

"  How,  Sully  !     Do  nothing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sire ;  I  advise  you — I  implore  you,  do 
nothing.  If  you  leave  Conde  to  himself  he  will  be 
laughed  at.  Even  his  friends  will  ridicule  his  esca- 
pade. In  three  months  he  will  he  back  again  at 
Court  with  the  Princess,  ashamed  of  himself.  Mean- 
time Madame  la  Princesse  will  see  foreign  Courts, 
acquire  the  Spanish  manner  from  the  Archduchess, 
and  return  more  fascinating  than  ever.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  you  pursue  him,  you  will  exalt  him  into  a 
political  victim;  all  your  Majesty's  enemies  will 
rally  round  him." 

Excellent  advice,  which  the  King  was  too  infat- 
uated to  follow  !  Forgetting  all  decency,  and  even 
the  law  of  nations,  he  insisted  on  punishing  Conde  as 


The  Prediction  Fulfilled.  221 

a  rebel,  and  called  on  the  Spanish  Government  for- 
mally to  release  the  Princess.  Spain  refused  ;  and 
this  ridiculous  passion  may  be  said  to  have  been 
the  approximate  cause  of  that  formidable  alliance 
against  Spain  in  which,  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
Henry  was  about  to  engage. 

The  favour  which  Henry  had  shown  his  Protestant 
subjects  had  long  rankled  in  the  minds  of  the  Catho- 
lics. He  was  held  to  be  a  renegade  and  a  traitor. 
It  was  affirmed  that  his  conversion  was  a  sham,  to 
which  he  lent  himself  only  the  more  effectually  to 
advance  the  interests  of  the  reformed  faith.  While 
he  gave  himself  up  to  amorous  follies  and  prepared 
for  foreign  wars,  a  network  of  hate,  treachery,  and 
fanaticism  was  fast  closing  around  him.  Enemies 
and  spies  rilled  the  Louvre,  and  dogged  his  every 
movement.  Already  the  footsteps  of  the  assassin 
approached. 

After  the  birth  of  the  Dauphin  a  strong  political 
party  had  gathered  round  Marie  de'  Medici.  Her 
constant  dissensions  with  the  King,  her  bitter  com- 
plaints, and  the  scandal  of  his  private  life,  afforded 
sufficient  grounds  for  elevating  her  into  a  kind  of 
martyr. 

The  intrigues  of  Concini,  whose  easy  manners, 
elegant  person,  and  audacious  counsels  had  raised 
him  from  a  low  hanger-on  at  Court  into  the  principal 
adviser  of  his  royal  mistress,  gradually  contrived  to 
identify  her  interests  with  those  of  the  great  feudal 
princes,  still  absolute  sovereigns  in  their  own  terri- 
tory. The  maintenance  of  the  Catholic  Church 
against  heresy,  and  the  security  of  the  throne  for 
her  son,  were  the  ostensible  motives  of  this  coalition. 


222  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

But  the  bond  between  Marie  and  her  chief  sup- 
porters, the  powerful  Dues  de  Bouillon  and  d'Eper- 
non,  was  in  reality  a  common  hatred  of  Henry  and 
a  bitter  jealousy  of  Sully,  whose  clear  intellect  and 
firm  hand  had  directed  with  such  extraordinary 
sagacity  the  helm  of  state  throughout  Henry's  long 
and  stormy  reign. 

Evil  influences,  which  displayed  themselves  in 
predictions,  warnings,  and  prophesies,  were  abroad. 
The  death  of  the  King  would  at  once  raise  Marie,  as 
Regent  for  her  son,  to  sovereign  power,  and  throw 
the  whole  control  of  the  State  into  the  hands  of  her 
adherents.  How  far  Marie  was  implicated  in  the 
events  about  to  happen  can  never  be  known,  and 
whether  she  listened  to  the  dark  hints  of  her  Italian 
attendants,  that  by  the  King's  death  alone  she  could 
find  relief.  But  undoubtedly  the  barbarous  cruelty 
with  which  Concini  and  his  wife  were  afterwards 
murdered  by  Henry's  friends  had  regard  to  this  sus- 
picion. Whether  the  Due  d'Epernon  knew  before- 
hand of  the  conspiracy,  and  insured  his  master's 
death  by  a  final  thrust  when  he  had  already  been 
struck  by  the  assassin,  or  whether  Henriette  d'En- 
tragues,  out  of  revenge  for  the  King's  passion  for 
the  Princesse  de  Conde,  herself  instigated  Ravaillac 
to  the  act,  must  ever  remain  a  mystery. 

Marie  de'  Medici,  urged  by  the  Concini,  and 
advised  by  her  friend  the  Due  d'Epernon,  was  at  this 
time  unceasing  in  her  entreaties  to  the  King  to  con- 
sent to  her  coronation  at  Saint-Denis.  According 
to  her  varying  mood  she  either  wept,  raved  and 
stamped  about  the  room,  or  kissed,  coaxed,  and 
cajoled  him.  And  there  was  cause  for  her  perti- 


The  Prediction  Fulfilled.  223 

nacity.  Henry's  weak  compliances  with  Henriette 
d'Entragues'  pretensions,  her  residence  in  the 
Louvre,  and  her  boastings  of  that  unhappy  promise 
of  marriage,  had  given  occasion  for  questions  to 
arise  touching  the  legitimacy  of  the  Dauphin.  Those 
who  were  politically  opposed  to  the  King  would  be 
ready,  at  any  moment  after  his  death,  to  justify  re- 
bellion on  the  pretence  of  a  prior  contract  invalida- 
ting his  present  marriage. 

Such  an  idea  drove  the  Queen  frantic.  There 
was  no  peace  for  Henry  until  he  consented  to  her 
coronation.  Yet  he  was  strangely  reluctant  to  com- 
ply. An  unaccountable  presentiment  of  danger 
connected  with  that  ceremony  pursued  him.  He 
had  never  been  the  same  since  the  loss  of  the 
Princesse  de  Conde.  Now  he  was  dull,  absent,  and 
indifferent,  ate  little  and  slept  ill.  Nothing  inter- 
ested or  pleased  him,  save  the  details  of  his  great 
campaign  against  Spain,  which  was  about  to  con- 
vulse all  Europe. 

"  Ah,  my  friend,"  said  he  to  Sully,  "  how  this 
ceremony  of  the  coronation  distresses  me.  When- 
ever I  think  about  it  I  cannot  shake  off  sinister  fore- 
bodings. Alas  !  I  fear  I  shall  never  live  to  head  my 
army.  I  shall  die  in  this  city  of  Paris.  I  shall  never 
see  the  Princesse  de  Conde  again.  Ah,  cursed  corona- 
tion !  I  shall  die  while  they  are  about  it.  Bassom- 
pierre  tells  me  the  maypole,  which  was  set  up  in  the 
court  of  the  Louvre,  has  just  fallen  down.  It  is  an 
evil  omen." 

"  Well,  Sire,"  returned  Sully,  "  postpone  the 
ceremony." 

"  No,  Sully,  no  ;  it  shall  not  be  said  that   Henry 


224  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

IV.  trembled  before  an  idle  prophecy.  For  twenty 
years,  Sully,  I  have  heard  of  predictions  of  my  death. 
After  all,  nothing  will  happen  to  me  but  what  is 
ordained." 

"  My  God,  Sire ! "  exclaimed  Sully,  "  I  never 
heard  your  Majesty  speak  so  before.  Countermand 
the  coronation,  I  entreat  you.  Let  the  Queen  not 
be  crowned  at  all  rather  than  lose  your  peace  of 
mind.  What  does  it  matter  ?  It  is  but  a  woman's 
whim." 

"  Ah,  Sully,  what  will  my  wife  say  ?  I  dare  not 
approach  her  unless  I  keep  my  word  ; — her  heart  is 
so  set  upon  being  crowned." 

"  Let  her  say  what  she  pleases,  Sire  ;  never  heed 
her.  Allow  me  to  persuade  her  Majesty  to  post- 
pone the  ceremony." 

"Try,  Sully;  try,  if  you  please: — you  will  find 
what  the  Queen  is.  She  will  not  consent  to  put  it 
off." 

The  King  spoke  truly.  Marie  de'  Medici  flew  into  a 
violent  rage,  and  positively  refused  to  listen  to  any 
postponement  whatever.  The  coronation  was  fixed 
to  take  place  on  Thursday,  the  I3th  of  May. 

It  is  certain  that  the  King  was  distinctly  warned 
of  his  approaching  death.  The  very  day  and  hour 
were  marked  with  a  cross  of  blood  in  an  almanack 
sent  to  him  anonymously.  A  period  of  six  hours 
on  the  I4th  of  May  was  marked  as  fatal  to  him.  If 
he  survived  that  time,  on  that  day — a  Friday — he 
was  safe.  The  day  named  for  his  death  was  that 
preceding  the  public  entry  of  the  Queen  into  Paris, 
after  her  coronation  at  Saint-Denis.  He  rose  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning  on  that  day,  Friday,  the  I4th 


The  Prediction  Fulfilled.  225 

of  May.  On  his  way  down-stairs,  he  was  met  by  the 
Due  de  Vendome,  his  son  by  Gabrielle  d'Estr£es. 
Vendome  held  in  his  hand  a  paper,  which  he  had 
found  lying  on  his  table.  It  was  a  horoscope,  signed 
by  an  astrologer  called  La  Brosse,  warning  the  King 
that  the  constellation  under  which  he  was  born 
threatened  him  with  great  danger  on  the  I4th  of 
May.  "  My  father,"  said  Vendome,  standing  in  his 
path,  "  do  not  go  abroad  ;  spend  this  day  at  home." 

"  La  Brosse,  my  boy,"  replied  Henry,  looking  at 
the  paper,  "  is  an  old  fox.  Do  you  not  see  that  he 
wants  money  ?  You  are  a  young  fool  to  mind  him. 
My  life  is  in  the  hands  of  God,  my  son, — I  shall  live 
or  die  as  he  pleases, — let  me  pass." 

He  heard  mass  early,  and  passed  the  day  as  usual. 
At  a  quarter  to  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  or- 
dered his  coach,  to  visit  Sully  at  the  Arsenal,  who 
was  ailing.  The  streets  were  much  crowded.  Paris 
was  full  of  strangers,  assembled  for  the  coronation, 
and  to  see  the  spectacle  of  the  Queen's  public  entry. 
Stages  and  booths  blocked  up  the  thoroughfares. 
Henry  was  impatient  for  the  arrival  of  his  coach,  and 
took  his  seat  in  it  immediately  it  arrived.  He  signed 
to  the  Due  d'Epernon  to  seat  himself  at  his  right 
hand.  De  Liancourt  and  Mirabeau,  his  lords  in 
waiting,  placed  themselves  opposite  to  him.  The 
Dues  de  Lavardin,  Roquelaure,  and  Montbazon,  and 
the  Marquis  de  la  Force,  took  their  places  on  either 
side.  Besides  these  noblemen  seated  inside,  a  few 
guards  accompanied  him  on  horseback,  but  when  he 
reached  the  hotel  of  the  Due  de  Longueville,  the 
King  stopped  and  dismissed  all  his  attendants,  save 
those  lords  in  the  coach  with  him.  From  the  Rue 


226  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Saint-Honore,  which  was  greatly  crowded,  they 
entered  the  Rue  de  la  Ferronniere,  on  the  way 
to  the  Arsenal.  This  was  a  narrow  street,  and 
numbers  of  wooden  stalls  (such  as  are  still  seen  on 
the  boulevards  in  Paris)  were  ranged  along  a  dead 
wall,  on  one  of  the  sides.  There  was  a  block  of 
carts  about  these  booths,  and  the  royal  coach  was 
obliged  to  draw  up  close  against  the  dead  wall.  The 
running  footmen  went  forward  to  clear  the  road  ; 
the  coach  halted  close  to  the  wall.  Ravaillac  now 
slipped  between  the  wall  and  the  coach,  and  jumping 
on  one  of  the  wheels,  stabbed  the  King  twice  in  the 
breast  and  ribs.  The  knife  passed  through  a  shirt 
of  fine  cambric,  richly  embroidered  a  jour.  A  third 
time  the  assassin  raised  his  hand  to  strike,  but  only 
ripped  up  the  sleeve  of  the  Due  de  Montbazon's 
doublet,  upon  whom  the  King  had  fallen.  "  I  am 
wounded,"  gasped  Henry,  "  but  it  is  nothing — 
Then  the  Due  d'Epernon  raised  his  royal  master  in 
his  arms.  Henry  made  a  convulsive  effort  to  speak, 
he  was  choked  by  blood,  and  fell  back  lifeless.  He 
was  brought  back  dead  to  the  Louvre.  There  he 
lay  in  state,  clothed  in  his  coronation  robes,  the 
crown  upon  his  head. 

The  bloody  almanack  had  told  true.     Henry  had 
circled  twenty  times  the  magic  chamber  of  life ! 


Louis  XIII.  227 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

LOUIS    XIII. 

IT  is  related  that  the  night  after  the  assassination 
of  Henri  Quatre  by  Ravaillac,  and  while  his 
body  lay  in  the  Louvre,  his  little  son,  Louis  XIII., 
screaming  with  terror,  cried  out  that  he  saw  the  same 
men  who  had  murdered  his  father  coming  to  kill  him. 
Louis  was  not  to  be  pacified  until  he  was  carried  to 
his  mother's  bed,  where  he  passed  the  rest  of  the 
night. 

To  this  infantine  terror,  this  early  association  with 
death  and  murder,  may  be  traced  the  strange  char- 
acter of  Louis  ;  weak  in  body  and  mind,  timid,  suspi- 
cious, melancholy,  superstitious,  an  undutiful  son,  a 
bad  husband,  and  an  unworthy  king.  The  fame  of 
his  great  father,  and  the  enthusiasm  his  memory  in- 
spired, instead  of  filling  him  with  emulation,  crushed 
and  depressed  him.  He  became  a  complete  "  Roi 
faineant"  His  reign  was  the  reign  of  favourites, 
and  nothing  was  heard  of  the  monarch  but  in  con- 
nection with  them,  save  that,  with  a  superstition 
worthy  of  the  Middle  Ages,  he  formerly  placed 
France  "  under  the  protection  of  the  Virgin." 

His  early  favourite,  Albret  the  Gascon,  created 
Due  de  Luynes  and  Constable  of  France,  was  his 
tyrant.  As  long  as  he  lived  Louis  both  hated  and 
feared  him.  He  hated  his  mother,  he  hated  Riche- 
lieu, he  hated  his  wife,  Anne  of  Austria.  Louis, 
surnamed  "the  Just,"  had  a  great  capacity  for 
hatred. 


228  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Poor  Anne  of  Austria,  to  whom  he  was  married 
at  fifteen,  she  being  the  same  age,  what  a  lot  was 
hers ! 

Her  personal  charms  actually  revolted  the  half- 
educated,  awkward  boy,  whom  all  the  world  thought 
she  would  govern  despotically.  He  could  not  help 
acknowledging  her  exceeding  loveliness  ;  but  she  was 
his  superior,  and  he  knew  it.  He  shrank  back,  terri- 
fied, at  her  vivacity  and  her  talents.  Her  innocent 
love  of  amusement  jarred  against  his  morbid  nature. 
Melancholy  himself,  he  disliked  to  see  others  happy, 
and  from  the  day  of  their  marriage  he  lived  as  much 
apart  from  her  as  state  etiquette  permitted. 

Maria  de'  Medici,  ambitious  and  unprincipled  as 
ever,  widened  the  breach  between  them.  She  still 
sat  supreme  in  the  council,  and  regulated  public  af- 
fairs. Richelieu,  her  favourite  and  minister  during 
the  Regency,  in  continual  dread  of  a  possible  recon- 
ciliation between  Louis  and  his  wife,  and  in  love 
with  the  young  Queen  himself,  was  rapidly  rising  to 
that  dictatorship  which  he  exercised  over  France  and 
the  King  until  he  died.  Both  he  and  the  Queen- 
mother  roused  Louis's  jealousy  against  his  wife,  and 
dropped  dark  hints  of  danger  to  his  throne,  perhaps 
to  his  life.  They  succeeded  only  too  well  ;  the  King 
and  Queen  become  more  and  more  estranged. 

Anne  of  Austria  uttered  no  complaint.  She 
showed  no  anger,  but  her  pride  was  deeply  wounded, 
and  amongst  her  ladies  and  her  friends  her  joyous 
raillery  did  not  spare  the  King.  Reports  of  her 
flirtations  also,  as  well  as  of  her  bon  mots  and  her 
mimicry,  heightened  by  the  malice  of  those  whose 
interest  it  was  to  keep  them  asunder,  reached  Louis, 


Louis  XIII.  229 

and  alienated  him  more  and  more.  Anne,  too  young 
to  be  fully  aware  of  the  growing  danger  of  her 
position,  vain  of  her  success,  and  without  either 
judicious  friends  or  competent  advisers,  took  no 
steps  to  reconcile  herself  to  her  husband.  Coldness 
and  estrangement  rapidly  grew  into  downright  dis- 
like and  animosity ;  suspicions  were  exaggerated  into 
certainty,  until  at  last  she  came  to  be  treated  as  a 
conspirator  and  a  criminal. 

The  age  was  an  age  of  intrigue,  treachery,  and 
rebellion.  The  growing  power  of  the  nobles  nar- 
rowed the  authority  of  the  throne.  The  incapacity 
of  the  King  strengthened  the  pretensions  of  the 
princes.  Spain,  perpetually  at  war  with  France, 
sought  its  dismemberment  by  most  disloyal  conspira- 
cies. Every  disaffected  prince  or  rebellious  noble 
found  a  home  at  the  Court  of  Philip,  brother  of 
Anne  of  Austria. 

Thus  Louis  knew  nothing  of  royalty  but  its  cares 
and  dangers.  As  a  boy,  browbeaten  and  overborne 
by  his  mother,  when  arrived  at  an  age  when  his  own 
sense  and  industry  might  have  remedied  defects  of 
education,  he  took  it  for  granted  that  his  ignorance 
was  incapacity,  his  timidity  constitutional  deficiency. 

A  prime  minister  was  absolutely  indispensable  to 
such  a  monarch,  and  Louis  at  least  showed  some 
discernment  in  selecting  for  that  important  post  the 
Bishop  of  Lucon  (Cardinal  Richelieu),  the  prottgt 
of  his  mother. 

Estranged  from  his  wife,  pure  in  morals,  and 
correct  in  conduct,  Louis,  still  a  mere  youth,  yearned 
for  female  sympathy.  A  confidante  was  as  necessary 
as  a  minister — one  as  immaculate  as  himself,  into 


230  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

whose  ear  he  could,  without  fear  of  scandal,  mur- 
mur the  griefs  and  anxieties  of  his  life.  Such  a 
woman  he  found  in  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort, 
maid  of  honour  to  the  Queen.  Her  modesty  and 
her  silence  first  attracted  him.  Her  manners  were 
reserved,  her  speech  soft  and  gentle.  She  was 
naturally  of  a  serious  turn  of  mind,  and  had  been 
carefully  educated.  She  took  great  apparent  interest 
in  all  the  King  said  to  her.  Her  conversation  be- 
came so  agreeable  to  him,  that  he  dared  by  degrees 
to  confide  to  her  his  loneliness,  his  misery,  and  even 
his  bodily  infirmities,  which  were  neither  few  nor 
slight.  This  intimacy,  to  a  solitary  young  King  who 
longed  for  affection,  yet  delicately  shrunk  from  the 
slightest  semblance  of  intrigue,  was  alluring  in  the 
highest  degree. 

Long,  however,  ere  Louis  had  favoured  her  with 
his  preference  she  had  given  her  whole  heart  to  her 
mistress,  Anne  of  Austria.  Every  word  the  King 
uttered  was  immediately  repeated  to  the  Queen, 
with  such  comments  as  caused  the  liveliest  entertain- 
ment to  that  lovely  princess,  who  treated  the  liaison 
as  an  admirable  joke,  and  entreated  her  maid  of 
honour  to  humour  the  King  to  the  very  utmost,  so 
as  to  afford  her  the  greatest  possible  amount  of 
amusement. 

The  Court  is  at  Compiegne.  Since  the  days  of 
Clotaire  it  has  been  a  favourite  hunting-lodge  of  the 
Kings  of  France.  One  vast  fa£ade  stretches  along 
verdant  banks  sloping  to  the  river  Oise,  across  which 
an  ancient  bridge  (on  which  Jeanne  d'Arc,  fighting 
against  the  English,  was  taken  prisoner)  leads  into 
the  sunny  little  town.  On  the  farther  side  of  the 


Louis  XIII.  231 

chateau  a  magnificent  terrace,  bordered  by  canals, 
links  it  to  the  adjoining  forest.  So  close  to  this 
terrace  still  press  the  ancient  trees  and  woodland 
alleys,  backed  by  rising  hills  crowned  with  lofty 
elms,  and  broken  by  deep  hollows  where  feathery 
beeches  wave,  that  even  to  this  day  the  whole  scene 
faithfully  represents  an  ancient  chase.  So  immense 
is  the  chateau  that  the  two  Queens,  Marie  de'  Medici 
and  Anne  of  Austria,  could  each  hold  distinct 
Courts  within  its  walls.  Marie,  in  the  suite  called 
the  "  Apartments  of  the  Queens-dowager  of  France," 
then  hung  with  ancient  tapestry  and  painted  in 
fresco,  looking  over  the  grassy  lawns  beside  the  river 
and  the  town ;  Anne,  in  the  stately  rooms  towards 
the  forest  and  the  woodland  heights. 

Within  a  vaulted  room,  the  walls  hung  with  Cor- 
dova leather  stamped  in  patterns  of  gorgeous  colours, 
Anne  of  Austria  is  seated  at  her  toilette.  Before 
her  is  a  mirror,  framed  in  lace  and  ribbons,  placed  on 
a  silver  table.  She  wears  a  long  white  peignoir 
thrown  over  a  robe  of  azure  satin.  Her  luxuriant 
hair  is  unbound  and  falls  over  her  shoulders  ;  Dofla 
Estafania,  her  Spanish  dresser,  who  has  never  left 
her,  assisted  by  Madame  Bertant,  combs  and  per- 
fumes it,  drawing  out  many  curls  and  ringlets  from 
the  waving  mass,  which,  at  a  little  distance,  the 
morning  sunshine  turns  into  a  shower  of  gold. 
Around  her  stand  her  maids  of  honour,  Mademoi- 
selles de  Guerchy,  Saint-Megrin,  and  de  Hautefort. 
The  young  Queen  is  that  charming  anomaly,  a 
Spanish  blonde.  She  has  large  blue  eyes  that  can 
languish  or  sparkle,  entreat  or  command,  pencilled 
eyebrows,  and  a  mouth  full-lipped  and  rosy.  She 


232  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

has  the  prominent  nose  of  her  family ;  her  com- 
plexion, of  the  most  dazzling  fairness,  is  heightened 
by  rouge.  She  is  not  tall,  but  her  royal  presence,  even 
in  youth,  lends  height  to  her  figure.  When  she 
smiles  her  face  expresses  nothing  but  innocence  and 
candour ;  but  she  knows  how  to  frown,  and  to  make 
others  frown  also. 

There  is  a  stir  among  the  attendants,  and  the 
King  enters.  He  is  assiduous  in  saluting  her  Majesty 
at  her  lever  when  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  is 
present.  Louis  XIII.  has  inherited  neither  the  rough 
though  martial  air  of  his  father,  nor  the  beauty  of 
his  Italian  mother.  His  face  is  long,  thin,  and  sal- 
low ;  his  hair  dark  and  scanty.  He  is  far  from  tall, 
and  very  slight,  and  an  indescribable  air  of  melan- 
choly pervades  his  whole  person.  As  Louis  ap- 
proaches her,  Anne  is  placing  a  diamond  pendant  in 
her  ear ;  her  hands  are  exquisitely  white  and  deli- 
ciously  shaped,  and  she  loves  to  display  them.  She 
receives  the  King,  who  timidly  advances,  with  sar- 
castic smiles  and  insolent  coldness.  While  he  is 
actually  addressing  her,  she  turns  round  to  her  lady 
in  waiting,  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  who  stands 
behind  her  chair,  holding  a  hand-mirror  set  in  gold, 
whispers  in  her  ear  and  laughs,  then  points  with  her 
dainty  finger,  bright  with  costly  rings,  to  the  King, 
who  stands  before  her.  Louis  blushes,  waits  some 
time  for  an  answer,  which  she  does  not  vouchsafe  to 
give  ;  then,  greatly  embarrassed,  retreats  into  a  corner 
near  the  door,  and  seats  himself. 

The  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  the  friend  and  con- 
fidante of  Anne  of  Austria,  widow  of  the  King's 
favourite  the  Due  de  Luynes,  now  a  second  time 


LOUIS  XIII. 


Louis  XIII.  233 

Duchess,  as  wife  of  Claude  Lorraine,  Due  de  Chev- 
reuse,  an  adventuress  and  an  intrigante,  is  a  gipsy- 
faced,  bewitching  woman,  dark-skinned,  velvet-eyed, 
and  enticing ;  her  cheeks  dimpling  with  smiles,  her 
black  eyes  dancing  with  mischief. 

The  King  sits  lost  in  thought,  with  an  anxious 
and  almost  tearful  expression,  gazing  fixedly  at 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  who  stands  behind  the 
Queen's  chair  among  the  maids  of  honour.  Sud- 
denly he  becomes  aware  that  all  eyes  are  turned  upon 
him.  He  rises  quickly,  and  makes  a  sign  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Hautefort  to  approach  him ;  but  the 
eyes  of  the  maid  of  honour  are  fixed  upon  the 
ground.  With  a  nervous  glance  towards  the  door, 
he  reseats  himself  on  the  edge  of  his  chair.  The 
Queen  turns  towards  him,  then  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Hautefort,  and  laughs,  whilst  the  maid  of  honour 
busies  herself  with  some  lace.  A  moment  after  she 
advances  towards  the  Queen,  carrying  the  ruff  in  her 
hand  which  is  to  encircle  her  Majesty's  neck. 

Anne  leans  back,  adjusts  the  ruff,  and  whispers  to 
her — "  Look,  mademoiselle,  look  at  your  despairing 
lover.  He  longs  to  go  away,  but  he  cannot  tear  him- 
self from  you.  I  positively  admire  his  courage.  Go 
to  him,  ma  belle — he  is  devouring  you  with  his  eyes. 
Have  you  no  mercy  on  the  anointed  King  of 
France  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  colours,  and  again 
turns  her  eyes  to  the  ground. 

"  Duchesse,"  continues  Anne  in  a  low  voice,  ad- 
dressing the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  "  tell  mademoi- 
selle what  you  would  do  were  you  adored  by  a  great 
king.  Would  you  refuse  to  look  at  him  when  he 


234  OM  Court  Life  in  France. 

stands  before  you — red,  white,  smiling,  almost  weep- 
ing, a  spectacle  of  what  a  fool  even  a  sovereign  may 
make  of  himself?"  And  the  Queen  laughs  again 
softly,  and,  for  an  instant,  mimicks  the  grotesque 
expression  of  the  King's  face. 

"  Madame,"  says  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort, 
looking  up  and  speaking  gravely,  "the  opinion  of 
Madame  la  Duchesse  would  not  influence  me.  We 
take  different  views  of  life.  Your  Majesty  knows 
that  the  King  is  not  my  lover,  and  that  I  only  con- 
verse with  him  out  of  the  duty  I  owe  your  Majesty. 
I  beseech  you,  Madame,"  adds  she,  in  a  plaintive 
voice,  "  do  not  laugh  at  me.  My  task  is  difficult 
enough.  I  have  to  amuse  a  Sovereign  who  cannot 
be  amused — to  feign  an  interest  I  do  not  feel.  Her 
grace  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse  would,  I  doubt 
not,  know  how  to  turn  the  confidence  with  which  his 
Majesty  honours  me  to  much  better  account  "  ;  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  glances  angrily  at  the 
Duchess,  who  smiles  scornfully,  and  makes  her  a 
profound  curtsey. 

"You  say  true,  mademoiselle,"  replies  she;  "I 
should  certainly  pay  more  respect  to  his  Majesty's 
exalted  position,  and  perhaps  I  should  feel  more 
sympathy  for  the  passion  I  had  inspired.  However, 
you  are  but  a  mere  girl,  new  to  court  life.  You  will 
learn  in  good  time,  mademoiselle — you  will  learn." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  about  to  make  a 
bitter  reply,  is  interrupted  by  the  Queen. 

"  Come,  petite  sotte"  says  Anne,  still  speaking 
under  her  breath,  "  don't  lose  your  temper.  We  all 
worship  you  as  the  modern  Diana.  Venus  is  not  at 
all  in  the  line  of  our  royal  spouse.  Look,  he  can 


The  Oriel  Window.  235 

bear  it  no  longer  ;  he  has  left  the  room.  There  he 
stands  in  the  anteroom,  casting  one  last  longing  look 
after  you ;  I  see  it  in  the  glass.  Go,  mademoiselle, 
I  dismiss  you — go  and  console  his  Majesty  with 
your  Platonic  friendship." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  left  the  room,  and  was 
instantly  joined  by  Louis,  who  drew  her  into  the 
embrasure  of  an  oriel  window. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   ORIEL   WINDOW. 

"  \/OU  have  come  at  last,"  said  Louis  eagerly. 
I  "  Why  would  you  not  look  at  me  ?  I  have 
suffered  tortures  ;  I  abhor  the  Queen's  ladies,  a  set -of 
painted  Jezebels,  specially  the  Duchesse  de  Chev- 
reuse,  a  dangerous  intriguer,  her  Majesty's  evil 
genius.  I  saw  them  all  mocking  me.  Why  did  you 
not  look  at  me  ?  you  knew  I  came  for  you,"  repeated 
he,  querulously. 

"  Surely,  Sire,  I  could  not  be  so  presumptuous  as 
to  imagine  that  a  visit  to  her  Majesty  from  her 
husband  concerned  me." 

"  Her  husband  !  would  I  had  never  seen  her,  or 
her  friend  the  Duchesse.  They  are  both — well,  I  will 
not  say  what,  certainly  spies,  spies  of  Spain.  My 
principles  forbid  me  to  associate  with  such  women. 
You  look  displeased,  mademoiselle — what  have  I 
done  ?  " — for  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  showed  by 
her  expression  the  disapproval  she  felt  at  his  abuse 


236  Old  Court  Life  in  Frame. 

of  the  Queen.  *'  It  is  your  purity,  your  sweetness, 
that  alone  make  the  Court  bearable.  But  you  are 
not  looking  at  me — cruel,  selfish  girl !  would  you  too 
forsake  me  ?  " 

The  maid  of  honour  feeling  that  she  must  say 
something,  and  assume  an  interest  she  did  not  feel, 
looked  up  into  the  King's  face  and  smiled.  "  I  am 
here,  Sire,  for  your  service.  I  am  neither  cruel  nor 
selfish,  but  I  am  grieved  at  the  terms  in  which  you 
speak  of  my  gracious  mistress.  Let  me  pray  your 
Majesty,  most  humbly,  not  to  wound  me  by  such 
language." 

Her  look,  her  manner,  softened  the  irritable  Louis. 
He  took  her  hand  stealthily  and  kissed  it.  He  gazed 
at  her  pensively  for  some  moments  without  speaking. 

"  How  beautiful  you  are,  and  wise  as  you  are 
beautiful !  "  exclaimed  he  at  length.  "  I  have  much 
to  say  to  you,  but  not  about  my  Spanish  wife.  Let 
us  not  mention  her."  His  eyes  were  still  riveted  on 
the  maid  of  honour :  his  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak, 
then  he  checked  himself,  but  still  retained  her  hand, 
which  he  pressed. 

"  You  hunted  yesterday.  Sire,"  said  she,  confused 
at  the  King's  silence  and  steadfast  gaze ;  "  what 
number  of  stags  did  you  kill  ?  I  was  not  present  at 
ihecurSe."  She  gently  withdrew  her  hand  from  the 
King's  grasp. 

"  I  did  not  hunt  yesterday :  I  was  ill,"  replied 
Louis.  "  I  am  ill,  very  ill." 

This  allusion  to  his  health  instantly  changed  the 
current  of  his  thoughts,  for  Louis  was  a  complete 
valetudinarian.  He  became  suddenly  moody,  and 
sank  heavily  into  a  seat  placed  behind  a  curtain,  the 


T/ie  Oriel  Window.  237 

thick  folds  of  which  concealed  both  him  and  the 
maid  of  honour. 

"  I  am  harassed,  sick  to  death  of  everything.  I 
should  die  but  for  you.  I  can  open  my  heart  to 
you."  And  then  suddenly  becoming  conscious  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  still  stood  before  him,  he 
drew  a  chair  close  to  his  side,  on  which  he  desired 
her  to  seat  herself. 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  knowing  well  that 
the  King  would  now  go  on  talking  to  her  for  a  long 
time,  assumed  an  attitude  of  pleased  attention. 
Louis  looked  pale  and  haggard.  His  sallow  cheeks 
were  shrunk,  his  large  eyes  hollow.  As  he  spoke  a 
hectic  flush  went  and  came  upon  his  face. 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  take  your  hand,  made- 
moiselle ? "  said  he,  timidly.  "  I  feel  I  could  talk 
much  better  if  I  did,  and  I  have  much  to  say  to 
you." 

She  reluctantly  placed  her  hand  in  his.  The  King 
sighed  deeply. 

u  What  is  the  matter,  Sire  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  question  !  I  long  to  tell  you.  I 
sigh  because  I  am  weary  of  my  life.  My  mother, 
who  still  calls  herself  Regent,  and  pretends  to  govern 
the  kingdom,  quarrels  perpetually  with  Richelieu. 
The  council  is  distracted  by  her  violence  and  ill- 
temper  ;  affairs  of  state  are  neglected.  She  reproaches 
Richelieu  publicly  for  his  ingratitude,  as  she  calls  it, 
because  he  will  not  support  her  authority  rather 
than  the  good  of  the  kingdom.  The  Due  d'Epernon 
supports  her.  He  is  as  imperious  as  she  is.  Her 
ambition  embitters  my  life,  as  it  embittered  that  of 
my  great  father." 


238  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Oh,  Sire,  remember  that  the  Queen-dowager  of 
France  is  your  mother.  Besides,  Richelieu  owes 
everything  to  her  favour.  Had  it  not  been  for  her 
he  would  have  remained  an  obscure  bishop  at  Lucon 
all  his  life.  She  placed  him  at  Court." 

"  Yes,  and  he  shall  stay  there.  Par  Dieu  !  he  shall 
stay  there.  If  any  one  goes  it  shall  be  my  mother. 
I  feel  I  myself  have  no  capacity  for  governing ;  I 
shrink  from  the  tremendous  responsibility  ;  but  I  am 
better  able  to  undertake  it  than  the  Queen-mother. 
Her  love  of  power  is  so  excessive  she  would  sacri- 
fice me  and  every  one  else  to  keep  it — she  and  the 
Due  d'Epernon,"  he  added,  bitterly.  "  Richelieu  is 
an  able  minister.  He  is  ambitious,  I  know,  but  I 
am  safe  in  his  hands.  He  can  carry  out  no  measures 
of  reform,  he  cannot  maintain  the  dignity  of  the 
Crown,  if  he  is  for  ever  interfered  with  by  a  fractious 
woman, — vain,  capricious,  incompetent." 

"  Oh,  Sire  !  "  and  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  held 
up  her  hands  to  stop  him. 

"  It  is  true,  madame.  Did  not  the  Queen-mother 
and  her  creatures,  the  Concini  and  the  Due  d'Eper- 
non, all  but  plunge  France  into  civil  war  during  her 
regency  ?  She  was  nigh  being  deposed,  and  I  with 
her.  What  a  life  I  led  until  De  Luynes  rescued  me! 
He  presumed  upon  my  favour,  lefripon,  and  brought 
boat-loads  of  Gascon  cousins  to  Court  from  Guienne. 
I  never  knew  a  man  have  so  many  cousins  !  They 
came  in  shoals,  and  never  one  of  them  with  a  silken 
cloak  to  his  back — a  beggarly  lot  !  " 

"  But,  Sire,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  sit- 
ting upright  in  her  chair,  and  trying  to  fix  the  King's 
wandering  mind,  "  why  do  you  need  either  her 


The  Oriel  Window.  239 

Majesty  the  Queen-mother  or  the  Cardinal  de  Riche- 
lieu ?  Depend  on  no  one.  Govern  for  yourself, 
Sire." 

"  Impossible,  impossible.  I  am  too  weak.  I  have 
no  capacity.  I  have  none  of  my  great  father's 
genius."  And  the  King  lifted  his  feathered  hat 
reverently  from  his  head  each  time  he  named  his 
father.  "  Richelieu  rules  for  me.  He  has  intellect.  He 
will  maintain  the  honour  of  France.  The  nation  is 
safe  in  his  hands.  As  for  me,  I  am  tyrannised  over 
by  my  mother,  laughed  at  by  my  Spanish  wife,  and 
betrayed  by  my  own  brother.  I  am  not  fit  to  reign. 
Every  one  despises  me — except  you."  And  the 
King  turned  with  an  appealing  look  towards  Made- 
moiselle de  Hautefort.  "You,  I  hope,  at  least, 
understand  me.  You  do  me  justice." 

There  was  a  melting  expression  in  the  King's  eyes 
which  she  had  never  seen  before.  It  alarmed  her. 
She  felt  that  her  only  excuse  for  the  treacherous 
part  she  was  acting  was  in  the  perfect  innocence  of 
their  relations.  A  visible  tremor  passed  over  her. 
She  blushed  violently,  a  look  of  pain  came  into  her 
face,  and  her  eyes  fell  before  his  gaze. 

"You  do  not  speak?  Have  I  offended  you ?" 
cried  Louis,  much  excited.  "  What  have  I  said? 
Oh,  mademoiselle,  do  not  lose  your  sympathy  for 
me,  else  I  shall  die  !  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  your 
notice ;  but — see  how  I  trust  you.  The  hours  I 
spend  in  your  society  give  me  the  only  happiness  I 
enjoy.  Pity,  pity  the  King  of  France,  who  craves 
your  help,  who  implores  your  sympathy !  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  speaking  in  her  usual 
quiet  manner,  entreated  him  to  be  calm. 


240  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Am  I  forgiven  ?  "  said  he  in  a  faltering  voice, 
looking  the  picture  of  despair.  "  Will  you  still 
trust  me?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Sire.  I  am  ashamed  to  answer  such  a 
question.  Your  Majesty  has  given  me  no  offence." 

Louis  reseated  himself. 

"  It  is  to  prepare  you  for  an  unexpected  event 
that  I  wish  to  talk  to  you.  It  is  possible  that  I  may 
shortly  leave  Compiegne  suddenly  and  secretly.  I 
must  tear  myself  away  from  you  for  a  while." 

"  Leave  the  Court,  Sire  !      What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  quarrels  between  my  mother  and  Richelieu 
are  more  than  I  can  endure.  They  must  end.  One 
must  go — I  will  not  say  which.  You  can  guess.  I 
am  assured  by  Richelieu,  who  has  information  from 
all  parts  of  France,  that  her  Majesty  is  hated  by  the 
people.  She  is  suspected  of  a  knowledge  of  my 
great  father's  death ;  she  has  abused  her  position. 
No  one  feels  any  interest  in  her  fate." 

"  But,  surely,  your  Majesty  feels  no  pleasure  in 
knowing  that  it  is  so,  even  if  it  be  true,  which  I  much 
doubt." 

"  Well,  her  Majesty  has  deserved  little  favour  of 
me,"  replied  he  with  indifference.  "  Richelieu  tells 
me  that  her  exile  would  be  a  popular  act 

"  Her  exile,  Sire  !  You  surely  do  not  contemplate 
the  exile  of  your  own  mother?" 

"  Possibly  not — possibly  not ;  but  a  sovereign  must 
be  advised  by  his  ministers.  It  is  indespensable  to 
the  prosperity  of  the  State." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  was  silent,  but  some- 
thing of  the  contempt  she  felt  might  have  been  seen 
in  her  expressive  eyes. 


Tke  Oriel   Window.  241 

"  I  do  not  feel  disposed,"  continued  he,  "  to  face 
the  anger  of  the  Queen-mother  when  she  hears  my 
determination.  She  would  use  violent  language  to 
me  that  might  make  me  forget  I  am  her  son. 
Richelieu  must  break  it  to  her.  He  can  do  it  while  I 
am  away.  Agitation  injures  my  health,  it  deranges 
my  digestion.  I  have  enough  to  bear  from  my  wife, 
from  whom  it  is  not  so  easy  to  escape " 

Again  he  stopped  abruptly,  as  if  he  were  about  to 
say  more  than  he  intended. 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  ever  on  the  lookout 
for  all  that  concerned  her  mistress  the  Queen, 
glanced  at  him  with  sullen  curiosity.  Her  eyes  read 
his  thoughts. 

"  Your  Majesty  is  concealing  something  from  me  ?  " 
she  said. 

"Well,  yes," — and  he  hesitated — "it  is  a  subject 
too  delicate  to  mention." 

"  Have  you,  then,  withdrawn  your  confidence  from 
me,  Sire?"  asked  she,  affecting  the  deepest  concern. 

'•  No,  no — never.  I  tell  you  everything — yet,  I 
blush  to  allude  to  such  a  subject." 

"  What  subject,  Sire  ?  Does  it  concern  her  Ma- 
jesty ?  " 

"  By  heaven  it  does !  "  cried  the  King,  with  un- 
wonted excitement,  a  look  of  rage  on  his  face.  "  It 
is  said —  "  and  he  stopped,  and  looked  round  suspi- 
ciously, and  became  crimson.  "  Not  here — not  here," 
he  muttered,  rising.  "  I  cannot  speak  of  it  here.  It 
is  too  public.  Come  with  me  into  this  closet." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  foreboding  some  mis- 
fortune to  the  Queen,  followed  him,  trembling  in 
every  limb,  into  a  small  retiring-closet  opening  from 


242  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

the  gallery  where  they  had  been  seated.  He  drew 
her  close  to  the  window,  glanced  cautiously  around, 
and  placed  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  It  is  said," — he  spoke  in  a  low  voice — "  it  is  said—- 
and appearances  confirm  it— that  " — and  he  stooped, 
and  whispered  some  words  in  Mademoiselle  de 
Hautefort's  ear,  who  started  back  with  horror.  "  If 
it  be  so,"  he  added  coolly,  "  I  shall  crave  a  dispensa- 
tion from  the  Pope,  and  send  the  Queen  back  to 
Madrid." 

"  For  shame,  Sire  !  you  are  deceived,"  cried  Made- 
moiselle de  Hautefort,  an  expression  of  mingled  dis- 
gust, anger,  and  terror  on  her  face.  She  could  hardly 
bring  herself  to  act  out  the  part  imposed  upon  her 
for  the  Queen's  sake.  She  longed  to  overwhelm  the 
unmanly  Louis  with  her  indignation  ;  but  she  con- 
trolled her  feelings.  "  On  my  honour,  Sire,"  said  she 
firmly,  "  they  do  but  converse  as  friends.  For  the 
truth  of  this  I  wager  my  life — my  salvation." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  insisted  Louis  doggedly. 
"  It  is  your  exalted  virtue  that  blinds  you  to  their 
wickedness.  My  mother,  who  hates  me — even  my 
mother  pities  me  ;  she  believes  in  the  Queen's  guilt." 

"  Sire,"  broke  in  the  maid  of  honor  impetuously, 
her  black  eyes  full  of  indignation,  "  I  have  already 
told  you  I  will  not  hear  my  royal  mistress  slandered  ; 
this  is  a  foul  slander.  To  me  she  is  as  sacred  as  your 
Majesty,  who  are  an  anointed  king."  Louis  passed 
his  hand  over  his  brow,  and  mused  in  silence.  "  I 
beseech  you,  Sire,  listen  to  me,"  continued  she,  see- 
ing his  irresolution.  "  I  speak  the  truth  ;  before 
God  I  speak  the  truth !  "  Louis  looked  fixedly  at 
her.  Her  vehemence  impressed,  if  it  did  not  convince 


The  Oriel  Window.  243 

him.  "  Your  Majesty  needs  not  the  counsel  of  the 
Queen-mother  in  affairs  of  state  ;  do  not  trust  her,  or 
any  one  else,  in  matters  touching  the  honour  of  your 
consort."  And  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked 
boldly  at  him.  "  Promise  me,  Sire,  to  dismiss  this 
foul  tale  from  your  mind." 

"  All  your  words  are  precious,  mademoiselle,"  re- 
plied Louis  evasively,  and  he  caught  her  hand  and 
kissed  it  with  fervour. 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  dared  not  press  him 
further.  She  withdrew  her  hand.  They  were  both 
silent,  and  stood  opposite  to  each  other.  As  Louis 
gazed  into  her  eyes,  still  sparkling  with  indignation, 
his  anger  melted  away. 

"  When  I  am  gone,  mademoiselle,"  said  he  ten- 
derly, "  do  not  forget  me.  You  are  my  only  friend. 
I  will  watch  over  you,  though  absent.  Here  is  a 
piece  of  gold,  pure  and  unalloyed  as  are  my  feelings 
toward  you,"  and  he  disengaged  from  his  neck  a  me- 
dallion delicately  chased.  "  See,  I  have  broken  it. 
One  half  I  will  keep;  the  other  shall  rest  in  your 
bosom  "  ;  and  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  placed  it 
in  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort's  hands.  "  As  long  as 
you  hold  that  piece  of  gold  without  the  other  half, 
know  that  as  the  token  is  divided  between  us,  so  is 
my  heart — the  better  half  with  you." 

Her  conscience  smote  her  as  she  received  this 
pledge.  Louis  had  such  perfect  faith  in  her  integrity, 
she  almost  repented  that  her  duty  to  the  Queen 
forced  her  to  deceive  him. 

"  Your  Majesty  overwhelms  me,"  said  she,  making 
a  deep  reverence. 

"The  Court  is  full  of  intrigues,"  continued  Louis. 


244  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  control  my  minister ;  but  remem- 
ber this — obey  no  order,  defy  all  commands,  that 
are  delivered  to  you  without  that  token."  The  maid 
of  honour  bowed  her  head.  A  tear  stole  down  her 
cheek;  the  King's  simplicity  touched  her  in  spite  of 
herself.  "Adieu,  mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "  my  best, 
my  only  friend.  I  humbly  crave  your  pardon  foraught 
I  may  have  said  or  done  to  wound  your  delicacy. 
We  will  meet  at  Saint-Germain :  then,  perhaps,  you 
will  fear  me  less.  We  will  meet  at  Saint-Germain." 

He  hesitated,  and  approached  dangerously  near 
to  the  handsome  maid  of  honour,  whose  confusion 
made  her  all  the  more  attractive.  As  he  approached, 
she  retreated. 

Suddenly  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and  a  page 
entered  the  closet,  and  announced — 

"  The  Queen-dowager,  who  demands  instant  ad- 
mittance to  her  son,  the  King." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  disappeared  in  an 
instant  through  a  door  concealed  in  the  arras.  The 
King,  pale  as  death,  put  his  hand  to  his  heart,  sank 
into  a  chair,  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AN   OMINOUS   INTERVIEW. 

LOUIS  had  not  long  to  wait ;  scarcely  a  moment 
passed  before  Marie  de'  Medici  appeared.  She 
entered  hastily ;  marks  of  violent  agitation  were  on  her 
countenance  ;  her  brows  were  knit ;  her  eyes  flashed. 
She  was  in  the  prime  of  middle  life,  but  grown  stout 


An  Ominous  Interview.  245 

and  unwieldy;  her  delicate  complexion  had  become 
red  and  coarse,  and  her  voice  was  loud  and  harsh; 
but  her  height,  and  the  long  habit  of  almost  abso- 
lute command,  gave  her  still  an  imposing  presence. 
Louis  involuntarily  shuddered  at  her  approach  ;  he 
had  been  long  accustomed  to  tremble  at  her  frown. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  fly  by  the  same  door  through 
which  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  had  vanished. 
He  rose,  however,  bowed  low  before  her,  and  offered 
her  a  seat. 

"  My  son,"  she  cried  in  a  husky  voice,  walking 
straight  up  to  him,  "  I  have  come  to  request  you 
instantly  to  banish  Richelieu.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall 
return  to  Florence.  The  insolence  of  that  villain 
whom  I  have  made  your  minister  is  intolerable.  He 
has  disobeyed  my  express  commands !  " 

"What  has  Richelieu  done,  madame?" 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  I,  your  mother,  who  have 
governed  France  almost  from  your  birth,  should 
declare  to  you  my  pleasure?  Would  you  prefer  a 
lackey  to  your  own  mother?  "  Let  it  suffice  that 
Richelieu  has  offended  me  past  forgiveness.  Sit 
down,  my  son" — and  she  seized  on  the  terrified  Louis, 
and  almost  forced  him  into  a  chair  beside  the  table 
— "  here  are  my  tablets ;  write  instantly  an  order 
that  within  twenty-four  hours  Richelieu  leaves 
France  forever." 

Louis  took  the  tablets,  but  his  trembling  hands 
could  not  hold  them.  The  jewelled  leaves  of  ivory, 
set  in  gold,  fell  on  the  ground  with  a  crash.  There 
was  a  pause. 

"What!  Louis,  you  hesitate  to  obey  me?  "and 
*  Words  used  by  Marie  de'  Medici  to  Louis  XIII. 


246  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

the  Queen's  fierce  eyes  darted  a  look  of  fury  at  the 
King,  whose  slender  figure  positively  seemed  to 
shrink  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  him. 

"  My  mother,"  he  said,  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  you 
have  told  me  nothing.  A  great  minister  like  Riche- 
lieu cannot  be  dismissed  on  the  instant." 

"Yes,  he  can,  if  there  be  another  to  replace  him, 
a  better  than  he ;  one  \vho  knows  the  respect  due  to 
the  Queen-dowager  of  France,  the  widow  of  Henry 
the  Great,  your  mother,  and  still  Regent  of  the 
kingdom." 

"  But,  Madame,  what  has  Richelieu  done  to  offend 
you  ?  "  and  the  King  had  the  courage  to  meet  his 
mother's  glance  unmoved. 

"  He  has  dared  to  disobey  my  positive  orders.  I 
had  appointed  the  Due  d'Epernon  governor  of 
Poitiers.  He  has  placed  there  a  creature  of  his  own. 
After  this  insult,  you  will  understand,  I  can  never 
again  sit  at  the  Council  with  Richelieu." 

"  Well,  Madame,  and  suppose  you  do  not !  "  re- 
joined the  King,  whose  nervous  dread  was  rapidly 
giving  place  to  resentment  at  his  mother's  arrogance. 
"  I  shall  still  be  King  of  France,  and  Richelieu  will 
be  my  minister." 

"Undutiful  boy  !  "  exclaimed  Marie  de'  Medici,  and 
she  raised  her  hand  as  if  to  strike  him  ;  "  You  forget 
yourself." 

"  No,  Madame,  it  is  you  who  forget  that,  if  I  am 
your  son,  I  am  also  your  king.  You  may  strike  me, 
if  you  please,  Madame,"  added  he  in  a  lower  voice, 
"  but  I  will  not  sign  the  exile  of  Richelieu."  The 
countenance  of  Louis  darkened  with  growing  pas- 
sion ;  the  threatening  aspect  of  his  mother  standing 


An  Ominous  Interview.  247 

before  him  with  upraised  arm,  aroused  him  to  un- 
wonted courage.  "  I  will  not  exile  Richelieu.  I 
leave  him  to  settle  his  differences  with  you  and  your 
favourites  — their  claims  do  not  concern  me.  I  will 
have  no  more  Concini,  madame ;  I  would  rather 
abdicate  at  once."  And  turning  on  his  heel,  with- 
out another  word,  or  even  saluting  the  Queen,  he 
left  the  room. 

A  sudden  dizziness,  an  overwhelming  conviction 
of  something  new  and  strange  in  her  position,  so- 
bered the  passion  of  Marie  de'  Medici  the  instant  the 
King  was  gone.  She  stood  motionless  where  he  had 
left  her,  save  that  her  uplifted  arm  dropped  to  her 
side.  A  mournful  look — the  shadow  of  coming  mis- 
fortunes— clouded  her  face.  Silent  and  dejected,  the 
tears  streaming  from  her  eyes,  she  withdrew.  When 
she  had  reached  her  own  apartments,  she  commanded 
that  no  one  should  be  admitted. 

That  same  day  the  King  left  Compiegne,  taking 
with  him  only  two  attendants.  No  one  knew  whither 
he  was  gone. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  Queen-mother's  ladies 
were  startled  by  the  appearance  of  Cardinal  Riche- 
lieu in  her  anteroom.  It  was  long  since  he,  who 
was  wont  never  to  be  absent  from  her  service,  had 
been  seen  there. 

"  Tell  her  Majesty,"  he  said  to  the  Duchesse 
d'Epernon,  "  that  I  am  come  on  urgent  state  busi- 
ness, by  the  express  command  of  the  King,  and 
that  I  must  speak  with  her  in  person." 

After  some  delay  he  was  admitted  into  the  Queen's 
apartment. 

Marie  de'  Medici  wears  a  long  robe  of  black  velvet, 


248  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

and  a  widow's  coif  upon  her  head.  She  looks  old, 
worn,  and  anxious ;  she  is  neither  imperious  nor 
angry.  She  begins  to  realise  that  power  is  passing 
from  her  ;  she  is  intensely  eurious,  not  to  say  alarmed, 
as  to  what  the  intelligence  may  be,  of  which  the 
Cardinal  is  the  bearer  ;  and  she  now  secretly  repents 
that  she  has  quarrelled  with  him. 

The  Cardinal  wears  a  close-fitting  black  soutane 
bound  with  purple,  and  a  beretta  of  the  same  colour 
on  his  head  ;  he  has  nothing  of  the  churchman  in  his 
appearance.  He  is  still  a  young  man,  upright  in 
figure  and  easy  in  manner,  attractions  which  he  owes 
to  his  early  military  training.  He  has  piercing  black 
eyes,  light  brown  hair  that  lies  straight  upon  his 
forehead,  and  a  pale,  thoughtful  face,  already  lined 
with  wrinkles.  His  closely  shutting  mouth,  thin- 
lipped  and  stern,  expresses  inflexible  determination. 
His  manners  are  composed,  almost  gentle  ;  his  voice 
melodious.  He  has  not  yet  become  the  imperious 
autocrat — the  merciless  butcher  of  the  chivalrous 
nobles  of  France — of  after  years.  Chalaisand  Mont- 
morenci  have  not  yet  fallen  by  his  order  on  the  scaf- 
fold ;  and  Cinq-Mars  is  a  precocious  lad,  living  with 
his  mother  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire.  Without 
vanity  he  knows  that  he  has  genius  to  conceive  great 
deeds,  and  industry  to  elaborate  every  necessary  de- 
tail. Already  the  consciousness  of  growing  great- 
ness forces  itself  upon  him.  The  incompetence  of 
the  King,  his  indolent  acquiescence  in  all  his  meas- 
ures, the  jealousy  between  Louis  and  his  mother 
whom  the  King  has  hitherto  not  dared  to  check,  his 
alienation  from  the  young  Queen  his  wife,  open 
before  Richelieu's  mental  vision  a  vista  of  almost 


An  Ominous  Interview.  249 

boundless  power.  Now  he  stands  in  the  presence 
of  his  early  benefactress,  the  sovereign  to  whom  he 
would  have  been  faithful,  had  such  fidelity  been  con- 
sistent with  the  welfare  of  France  and  his  own  ambi- 
tion. Spite  of  habitual  self-control,  he  is  greatly 
moved  at  her  forlorn  condition.  He  still  hopes  that 
he  may  save  her  from  an  overwhelming  calamity. 

Richelieu  advances  to  where  the  Queen-mother 
is  seated  beside  the  hearth,  and  after  making  a  pro- 
found obeisance  waits  for  her  to  address  him. 

"You  bear  to  me  a  message  from  my  son.  What 
can  he  have  to  say  to  me,  that  he  cannot  speak  him- 
self ?  "  Marie  asks  with  dignity. 

"  Nothing,  my  most  gracious  mistress,"  replies 
Richelieu,  almost  submissively,  "  if  your  Majesty 
will  deign  to  be  guided  by  my  counsel." 

"You  call  me  your  mistress,  Cardinal,"  says  Marie 
bitterly  ;  "  but  you  have  left  my  service,  and  you 
disobey  my  positive  commands.  How  can  I  treat 
with  such  a  hypocrite  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  personal  animos- 
ity towards  myself — be  I  innocent  or  guilty  of  what 
you  accuse  me — blind  you  to  the  danger  in  which 
you  now  stand." 

"  Danger!  What  do  you  mean  ?  To  what  danger 
do  you  allude  ?  " 

"The  danger  that  threatens  you,  Madame,  in  the 
displeasure  of  his  Majesty." 

"  Ah,  I  perceive.  My  son  strikes  through  you,  my 
creature,  that  he  may  crush  me.  I  congratulate 
your  eminence  on  your  triumphant  ingratitude." 

"  Madame,"  and  the  Cardinal  wrings  his  hands  and 
advances  a  step  or  two  nearer  the  Queen  with  an  air 


250  Old  Coiirt  Life  in  France. 

of  earnest  entreaty,  "  hear  me,  I  implore  you.  Let 
us  not  lose  precious  time  in  mere  words.  I  have 
come  here  in  a  twofold  character,  as  your  friend  and 
as  minister  of  state.  Permit  me  first  to  address  you 
as  the  former,  Madame,  your  counsellor  and  your 
sincere  friend."  As  he  speaks  his  voice  trembles, 
his  manner  is  almost  humble  as  he  seeks  to  allay  the 
stormy  passions  that  gather  on  the  brow  of  his  royal 
mistress. 

Marie  de'  Medici  is  so  much  taken  aback  at  this 
unusual  display  of  feeling  in  the  stern  Cardinal,  that 
though  her  eyes  glisten  with  anger  she  makes  no 
reply. 

"Your  Majesty,  in  honour  and  greatness,"  con- 
tinued Richelieu,  "  stands  next  to  the  throne.  Be 
satisfied,  Madame,  with  the  second  place  in  the  king- 
dom. Your  own  age,  Madame," — Marie  starts — "  and 
the  increased  experience  of  his  Majesty,  justify  you 
in  committing  the  reins  of  government  into  his  hands 
and  into  the  hands  of  such  ministers  as  he  may 
appoint." 

"Yourself,  for  instance,"  breaks  in  Marie  bitterly. 

"  Madame,  I  implore  you,  by  the  respect  and  the 
affection  I  bear  you,  not  to  interrupt  me.  Withdraw, 
graciously  and  cheerfully,  from  all  interference  with 
state  affairs.  Resign  your  place  at  the  council.  Dis- 
miss those  nobles  who,  by  their  rebellious  conduct, 
excite  his  Majesty's  displeasure,  specially  the  Due 
d'Epernon." 

"  Never !  "  exclaims  Marie  passionately.  "  I  will 
not  resign  my  place  at  the  council,  nor  will  I  sacrifice 
my  supporter,  the  Due  d'Epernon.  My  son  is  in- 
capable of  governing.  He  has  ever  been  the  tool  of 


An  Ominous  Interview^,  251 

those  about  him.  I  am  his  best  substitute.  This  is 
a  miserable  plot  by  which  you  basely  seek  to  disgrace 
me  by  my  own  act — to  rise  by  my  fall." 

"  Oh,  Madame,  to  whom  I  owe  so  much,"  pleads 
Richelieu,  "  whom  I  would  now  serve  while  I  can, 
hear  me.  I  speak  from  my  heart — I  speak  for  the 
last  time.  Be  warned,  I  beseech  you."  His  hands 
are  still  clasped,  his  voice  falters,  tears  flow  down  his 
cheeks.  Any  one  less  obstinately  blind  than  the 
Queen  would  have  been  warned  by  the  evidence  of 
such  unusual  emotion  in  a  man  ordinarily  so  cold 
and  impassible  as  the  Cardinal. 

"  Ha,  ha,  you  are  an  admirable  actor,  Cardinal !  " 
cries  she.  "  But  what  if  I  refuse  to  listen  to  a  traitor? 
Who  named  me*  '  Mother  of  the  kingdom?'  Who 
vowed  to  me  '  that  the  purple  with  which  I  invested 
him  would  be  a  solemn  pledge  of  his  willingness  to 
shed  his  blood  in  my  service  '  ?  I  know  you,  Armand 
de  Plessis." 

For  some  minutes  neither  utters  a  word.  When 
he  addresses  the  Queen  again,  Richelieu  has  mas- 
tered his  feelings  and  speaks  with  calmness,  but  his 
looks  express  the  profoundest  pity. 

"  I  am  no  traitor,  Madame,  but  the  unwilling 
bearer  of  a  decision  that  will  infinitely  pain  you,  if 
you  drive  me  to  announce  it.  But  if  you  will  con- 
descend to  listen  to  my  counsel,  to  conciliate  your 
son  the  King,  and  disarm  his  wrath  by  immediate 
submission,  then  that  terrible  decision  never  need  be 
revealed.  That  you  should  be  wise  in  time,  Madame," 
adds  he,  in  a  voice  full  of  gentleness,  contemplating 

*  Richelieu   used   these   precise   words   in   speaking  of  Marie  de' 
Medici. 


252  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

her  with  the  utmost  compassion,   "  is  my   earnest 
prayer." 

Before  he  had  done  speaking  the  Cardinal  sinks 
on  his  knees  at  her  feet,  and  draws  forth  from  his 
breast  a  paper,  to  which  are  appended  the  royal  seals. 
Marie,  whose  usual  insolence  and  noisy  wrath  have 
given  place  to  secret  fear,  still  clings  to  the  hope  that 
she  is  too  powerful  to  be  dispensed  with,  and  that 
by  a  dauntless  bearing  she  will  intimidate  Richelieu, 
and,  through  him,  the  King,  replies  coldly — 

"  I  have  given  you  my  answer.  Now  you  can 
withdraw."  Then,  rising  from  her  chair,  she  turns 
her  back  upon  Richelieu — who  still  kneels  before 
her — and  moves  forward  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stay,  Madame  !  "  cries  Richelieu,  rising,  stung  to 
the  quick  by  her  arrogant  rejection  of  his  sympathy, 
and  ashamed  of  the  unwonted  emotion  the  forlorn 
position  of  his  royal  mistress  had  called  forth  ;  "  stay 
and  listen  to  this  decree,  in  the  name  of  his  Majesty." 
And  he  unfolds  the  parchment.  "  Once  more, 
Madame,  understand.  Unless  you  will  on  the  in- 
stant resign  your  seat  in  the  Council  of  State  and 
dismiss  the  Due  d'Epernon — a  man  suspected  of  a 
hideous  crime,  which  you  at  least,  Madame,  ought 
never  to  have  forgotten — from  his  attendance  on 
your  person,  I  am  commanded  by  his  Majesty ' 

"Dismiss  D'Epernon! — my  only  trusty  servant, 
D'Epernon,  who  has  defended  me  from  your  treach- 
ery !  " — breaks  in  Marie  passionately,  her  voice  rising 
higher  at  every  \vord— "  Never — never!  Let  me  die 
first !  How  dare  you,  Cardinal  Richelieu,  come 
hither  'to  affront  the  mother  of  your  King?  I  will 
NOT  dismiss  the  Due  d'Epernon.  It  is  you  who 


An  Ominous  Interview.  253 

shall  be  dismissed  !  " — and  she  glares  upon  him  with 
fury — "  despised,  dishonoured,  blasted,  as  you 
deserve." 

"  If  you  refuse,  Madame — and  let  me  implore  you 
to  reflect  well  before  you  do,"  continues  the  Cardinal, 
quite  unmoved  by  her  reproaches — "  I  have  his 
Majesty's  commands  to  banish  you  from  Court,  and 
to  imprison  you  during  his  pleasure  within  this 
palace." ' 

No  sooner  has  he  uttered  these  words  than  the 
Queen,  who  stands  facing  the  Cardinal,  staggers 
backwards.  A  deadly  pallor  overspreads  her  face. 
She  totters,  tries  to  grasp  the  arm  of  the  chair  from 
which  she  has  risen,  and  before  Richelieu,  who 
watches  her  agony  with  eyes  rather  of  sorrow  than 
of  anger,  can  catch  her,  she  has  fallen  fainting  on 
the  floor. 

At  his  cries  the  Queen's  ladies  appear.  He  leaves 
her  to  their  care,  and  proceeds  to  the  apartments  of 
Anne  of  Austria,  whom,  through  Madame  de  Chev- 
reuse,  he  informs  of  what  has  occurred. 

Annie  of  Austria,  on  hearing  that  the  Queen- 
mother  was  disgraced,  saw  in  her  unfortunate  mother- 
in-law,  who  had  never  ceased  to  persecute  her  and 
to  arouse  the  jealousy  of  the  King,  only  an  unhappy 
parent.  She  flew  to  her,  threw  herself  into  her  arms, 
and  readily  promised  to  employ  all  the  influence  she 
possessed  to  mitigate  the  royal  wrath. 

*  See  Note  21. 


254  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

LOVK    AND    TREASON. 

ANNE  OF  AUSTRIA  has  left  Compiegne  and 
the  royal  prisoner,  and  is  now  at  Saint-Ger- 
main. The  chateau  stands  upon  the  crest  of  a  hill, 
backed  by  a  glorious  forest  that  darkens  the  heights 
encircling  Paris. 

It  is  spring;  the  air  is  warm  and  genial,  the  sky 
mildly  blue  ;  light  clouds  temper  the  bright  sunshine 
that  plays  upon  the  southern  facade  of  the  palace, 
and  glistens  among  the  elms  which  form  magnificent 
avenues  in  the  surrounding  park. 

The  King  has  not  yet  returned,  and  the  Queen 
and  her  ladies,  relieved  of  his  dreary  presence,  revel 
in  unusual  freedom.  Concerts,  suppers,  dances, 
repasts  in  the  forest,  and  moonlight  walks  on  the 
terrace,  are  their  favourite  diversions.  Anne  of 
Austria  has  not  positively  forgotten  the  lonely 
captive  at  Compiegne,  but  is  too  much  engrossed 
with  her  own  affairs  to  remember  more  than  her 
promise  to  assist  her.  That  atmosphere  of  flattery 
a  woman  loves  so  well  and  accepts  as  an  offering 
exacted  by  her  beauty  breathes  around  her.  Mon- 
sieur Gaston,  Due  d'Orleans,  the  King's  only  brother, 
is  always  by  her  side.  Monsieur  is  gay,  polished, 
gallant ;  tall  and  slight  like  his  brother,  and  pale- 
faced,  but  not,  as  with  Louis,  with  the  pallor  of 
disease.  He  has  much  of  his  mother's  versatile 
nature  without  her  violent  temper.  Like  her  he  is 
fickle,  weak,  and  treacherous,  incapable  of  any  deep 


Love  and   Treason.  255 

or  stable  feeling.  Monsieur  talks  to  the  Queen  of 
Madrid,  and  sympathises  with  her  attachment  to 
her  brother,  to  whom  Anne  writes  almost  daily  long 
letters  in  cipher  (always  committed  to  the  care  of 
the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse),  notwithstanding  the 
war  between  France  and  Spain.  The  chivalrous  Due 
de  Montmorenci,  more  formal  and  reserved  than  Mon- 
sieur, but  equally  devoted ;  the  Due  de  Bellegarde, 
no  longer  the  ideal  of  manly  beauty  dear  to  the  heart 
of  poor  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  but  grey-headed  and 
middle-aged,  though  still  an  ardent  servant  of  the 
fair,  with  the  chivalric  manners  and  soldier-like  free- 
dom of  the  former  reign  ;  gallant,  rough,  generous 
Bassompierre,  who  was  to  pay  so  dearly  by  twelve 
years'  imprisonment  in  the  Bastille  his  opposition  to 
the  Cardinal ;  and  Marechal  d'Ornano,  the  beau 
sabrcur  of  that  day,  were  also  in  attendance,  each 
one  the  object  of  the  King's  morbid  jealousy. 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  rarely  leaves  the 
Queen.  She  rejoices  almost  more  than  her  mistress 
in  the  King's  absence.  The  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse, 
bewitching  and  spiteful,  closely  attended  by  the 
Comtes  Chalais  and  Louvigni,  whom  she  plays  one 
against  the  other  ;  the  Duchesse  de  Montbazon,  her 
step-mother,  whose  imperious  eyes  demand  worship 
from  all  who  approach  her,  ever  in  the  company  of 
De  Ranee,* — by-and-by  to  found  the  order  of  La 
Trappe, — are  some  of  the  Ladies  who  form  the 
Queen's  Court. 

One  moonlit  night  the  Queen  and  her  ladies  had 
lingered  late  on  the  stately  terrace,  built  by  Henry 
IV.,  which  borders  the  forest  and  extends  for  two 

*  See  Note  22. 


256  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

miles  along  the  edge  of  the  heights  on  which  the 
chateau  stands.  The  Queen  and  her  brother-in-law, 
Monsieur  Due  d'Orleans,  have  seated  themselves 
somewhat  apart  from  the  rest  on  the  stone  balustrade 
that  fronts  the  steep  descent  into  the  plains  around 
Paris.  Vineyards  line  the  hillside,  which  falls  rapidly 
towards  the  Seine  flowing  far  beneath,  its  swelling 
banks  rich  with  groves,  orchards,  villas,  and  gardens. 
Beyond,  the  plain  lay  calm  and  still,  wrapped  in  dark 
shadows,  save  where  the  moonbeams  fall  in  patches 
and  glints  of  silvery  light.  Of  the  great  city  which 
spreads  itself  beyond,  not  a  yestige  is  to  be  seen. 
All  human  lights  are  extinguished,  but  the  moon 
rides  high  in  the  heavens  in  fields  of  azure  bright- 
ness, and  the  stars  shine  over  the  topmost  heights, 
where,  on  the  very  verge  of  the  horizon,  and  facing 
the  terrace,  the  towers  of  the  Cathedral  of  Saint- 
Denis  break  the  dusky  sky-line. 

A  range  of  hills  links  this  far-off  distance  with  the 
sombre  masses  of  the  adjoining  forest.  Great  masses 
of  trees  surge  up  black  in  front,  swaying  hither  and 
thither  in  the  night  breeze ;  the  rustling  of  their 
leaves  is  the  only  sound  that  breaks  the  silence.  For 
a  time  the  Queen  sits  motionless. 

"  What  a  lovely  night,"  she  says  at  last,  as  she 
casts  her  eyes  out  over  the  broad  expanse  of  earth 
and  sky.  "  Oh,  that  the  world  could  be  ever  as  calm 
and  peaceful  !  " 

A  sad  look  comes  into  her  eyes, — she  heaves  a 
deep  sigh,  throws  back  her  head  and  gazes  upwards. 
The  softened  rays  of  the  moon  shine  upon  her  face, 
light  up  the  masses  of  her  golden  hair,  and  play 
among  the  folds  of  a  long  white  robe  which  encircles 


Love  and   Treason.  257 

her  to  the  feet.  She  sits  framed,  as  it  were,  in  a 
circle  of  supernatural  lustre.  Monsieur  is  beside 
her,  rapt  in  admiration.  The  beautiful  vision  before 
him  intoxicates  his  senses.  The  landmarks  of  social 
restriction,  of  tyrannous  etiquette,  have  vanished, 
gone,  with  the  sun  and  the  daylight.  He  forgets 
that  she  is  a  great  queen,  the  wife  of  his  brother — 
his  Sovereign  ;  he  forgets  that  their  attendants, 
though  invisible,  are  at  hand,  that  a  glittering 
palace  lies  hid  among  the  woods,  with  its  attendant 
multitudes  ;  he  forgets  all  save  that  she  is  there  before 
him,  a  dazzling  presence,  sprung,  as  it  seems,  out  of 
the  darkness  of  the  night.  He  gazes  at  her  with 
speechless  rapture.  Words  which  had  often  before 
trembled  on  his  lips  must  now  be  uttered.  He  is 
about  to  speak,  when  the  Queen,  unconscious  of 
what  is  passing  within  him,  awakes  from  her  reverie 
and  points  to  the  forest. 

"  See,  Gaston,  how  the  moon  plays  upon  those 
branches.  I  could  almost  believe  that  some  fantastic 
shapes  are  gliding  amongst  the  trees.  Let  us  go 
back  ;  the  forest  is  horribly  dark,  it  frightens  me." 
And  she  shudders. 

"  I  can  see  nothing  but  you,  my  sister,"  answers 
Monsieur,  softly.  "  You  are  the  very  goddess  of  the 
night."  And  his  eyes  rest  on  her  with  an  impas- 
sioned gaze. 

Anne  of  Austria  still  looks  fixedly  into  the  thicket, 
as  if  fascinated  by  the  mystery  of  the  great  woods. 
Again  she  shudders  and  wraps  the  light  mantle  she 
wore  closer  around  her. 

"  It  is  late,  my  brother,"  she  says,  rising.  "  If  I 
stay  longer  I  shall  have  evil  dreams.  Let  us  go." 


258  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Oh,  my  sister  !  oh,  Anne  !  "  cries  the  Duke, 
"  let  us  stay  here  for  ever."  And  he  caught  one  of 
the  folds  of  her  white  robe,  kissed  it,  and  gently 
endeavoured  to  draw  her,  again,  toward  the 
balustrade. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  Queen,  startled,  for 
the  first  time  meeting  his  eyes.  "Ah,  my  brother," 
adds  she,  becoming  suddenly  much  confused,  "are 
you  sure  you  do  not  frighten  me  more  than  the 
strange  shapes  among  the  trees?  " 

"  Trust  me,"  cries  Monsieur  ardently,  retaining  her 
robe  almost  by  force.  "  Tell  me  you  will  trust  me 
— now,  always.  Ah,  my  sister,  my  heart  bleeds  for 
you.  Never,  never  will  you  find  one  so  devoted  to 
you  as  I — 

There  was  a  certain  eloquence  in  his  words,  a 
truth  in  his  pretestings,  that  seemed  to  touch  her. 
Anne  flushes  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Monsieur — Gaston — let  me  go."  And  she  dis- 
engages herself  with  difficulty.  Monsieur  now  rose. 
"  Where  is  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse  ?  "  asks  Anne, 
not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  No  fear  for  her  :  she  is  well  attended,"  replies 
Monsieur  in  a  voice  full  of  vexation.  "  Every  one  is 
in  good  luck  but  me.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  madly 
in  love  as  poor  Chalais,  and  the  Duchess  returns  it." 

The  Queen  is  now  walking  onwards  at  as  rapid  a 
pace  as  the  uncertain  light  permitted,  along  the 
terrace.  Monsieur  follows  her. 

"Yes — in  love," — and  Anne  laughs  her  silvery 
laugh  ;  "  but  that  is  not  the  way  I  would  give  my 
heart  if  I  gave  it  at  all,  which  I  don't  think  I  am 
tempted  to  do."  And  she  looked  back  archly  at 


Love  and   Treason.  259 

Monsieur,  whose  countenance  fell.  "  Chalais  is  one 
among  so  many,"  continues  the  Queen,  trying  to 
resume  her  usual  manner.  "  The  Duchess  is  very 
benevolent." 

"  Alas,  my  poor  Henry  !  "  answers  Monsieur,  "with 
him  it  is  an  overwhelming  passion.  Louvigni  and 
the  others  admire  and  court  the  Duchess  ;  but  they 
are  not  like  Chalais — he  worships  her.  The  Duchess 
is  a  coquette  who  uses  him  for  her  own  purposes. 
She  is  now  inciting  him  to  head  a  dangerous  con- 
spiracy against  the  Cardinal.  Chalais  has  opened 
the  matter  to  me  ;  but  they  go  far — dangerously  far. 
I  cannot  pledge  myself  to  them  as  yet." 

"  Oh,  Gaston  !  "  exclaims  the  Queen,  stopping, 
and  laying  her  hand  eagerly  on  his  arm  ;  "  if  you 
love  me  as  you  say  you  do,  join  in  any  conspiracy 
against  the  Cardinal." 

The  Queen  speaks  with  vehemence.  A  sudden 
fire  shot  into  her  eyes,  as  she  turns  towards  Mon- 
sieur. Her  delicate  hand  still  rests  for  an  instant 
upon  him,  and  is  then  withdrawn. 

"  Fair  sister,"  replies  the  Duke,  "  You  cannot 
pretend  to  misunderstand  me.  For  your  service  I 
would  risk  anything — how  much  more  a  tussle  with 
an  arrogant  minister,  who  has  outraged  me — as 
much  as  he  has  you.  Perhaps,  Anne,  I  would  risk 
too  much  for  your  sake."  And  the  enamoured  look 
again  comes  into  his  eyes.  But  the  Queen  draws 
back,  and  turns  her  head  away.  "  Deign  to  com- 
mand me,  sister — Queen,"  he  adds,  "  only  to  com- 
mand me,  and  I  will  obey." 

Anne  is  now  walking  onwards.  For  a  few  moments 
she  does  not  reply. 


260  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  If  you  would  serve  me — let  Richelieu  be  ban- 
ished," says  she  at  last  imperiously.  "  I  care  not 
whither.  Nothing  is  too  bad  for  him.  He  has  dared 
to  insult  me.  You,  Gaston,  are  safe,  even  if  you  fail. 
My  brother  will  receive  you  at  Madrid  ;  I  will  take 
care  of  that." 

"  I  am  overcome  by  your  gracious  consideration 
for  my  welfare,"  cries  Monsieur,  catching  at  her 
words.  "  But,  my  sister,"  continues  he  gravely,  "  do 
you  know  what  this  plot  means  ?  Assassination  is 
spoken  of.  At  this  very  moment  I  wager  my  life 
the  Duchess  is  employing  all  her  seductions  to  draw 
Chalais  into  a  promise  of  stabbing  the  Cardinal." 

"Stabbing  the  Cardinal?  Impossible!  Chalais 
would  not  commit  a  crime.  You  make  me  tremble. 
The  Duchess  told  me  nothing  of  this.  She  must  have 
lost  her  head." 

"  I  know  that  Chalais  is  fiercely  jealous.  He  is 
jealous  of  every  one  who  approaches  the  Duchess, 
and  we  all  know  that  the  Cardinal  is  not  insensible 
to  her  charms 

"  Odious  hypocrite  !  "  breaks  in  the  Queen. 

"As  long  as  Richelieu  lives,"  continues  Monsieur, 
"my  mother  will  not  be  set  at  liberty.  He  dreads 
her  influence.  He  knows  she  has  a  powerful 
party." 

"  It  is  infamous  !  "  exclaims  Anne  of  Austria. 

"The  Cardinal  persuades  the  King  that  he  alone 
can  govern  France,  and  that  our  mother  desires  to 
depose  him  and  appoint  a  regency,  which  I  am  to 
share  with  her  ;  that  you,  my  sister,  conspire  against 
him  with  Spain.  My  brother,  weak,  irresolute,  insen- 
sible to  you,  believes  all  that  is  told  him.  I,  my 


Love  and   Treason.  261 

mother's  only  friend,  dare  not  assist  her.  You,  his 
wife,  the  loveliest  princess  in  Europe — nay,  in  the 
whole  world," — and  his  kindling  eyes  fix  themselves 
upon  her — "  he  repulses.  You  might  as  well  be  mar- 
ried to  an  anchorite.  Thank  God,  his  Majesty's 
health  is  feeble,  his  life  very  uncertain.  If  he  dies  I 

shall  be  King  of  France,  and  then "  He  pauses, 

as  if  hesitating  to  finish  the  sentence.  "Ah,  my 
sister  !  "  he  exclaims,  stopping  and  trying  to  detain 
her.  "  Had  I  been  blessed  with  such  a  consort  I 
would  have  passed  my  life  at  her  feet.  Would  that 
even  now  I  might  do  so  !  The  dark  canopy  of  these 
ancient  trees — the  silence,  the  solitude,  make  all 
possible.  Speak  to  me,  Anne  ;  tell  me — oh,  tell  me 
that  I  may  hope.  Do  not  turn  away  from  me — 

The  Queen  had  stopped.  She  stands  listening  to 
him  with  her  face  turned  towards  the  ground. 

The  moon  is  fast  sinking  behind  the  distant  tree- 
tops,  and  the  deepest  shadows  of  the  night  darken 
their  path  which  had  now  left  the  terrace,  and  lay 
beneath  the  trees.  The  wind  sighs  and  moans  in  the 
adjoining  forest,  and  an  owl  hoots  from  an  ivy-covered 
tree.  For  some  minutes  the  Queen  moves  not.  Her 
whole  figure  is  in  shadow.  Was  she  listening  to  the 
voices  of  the  night  ?  or  was  she  deeply  musing  on  what 
she  had  heard  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

Some  sudden  resolve  seemed,  however,  to  form 
itself  in  her  mind.  She  roused  herself,  and  motions 
to  Monsieur  with  her  hand  to  go  onwards.  "  Alas, 
my  brother,"  she  says  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  do  not  press 
me,  I  beseech  you.  You  know  not  what  you  say. 
Such  words  are  treason."  And  she  hurries  onwards 
into  the  gloom.  "  Head  the  conspiracy  against  the 


262  Old  Court  Life   in  France. 

Cardinal,"  she  continues,  moving  quickly  forward  as  if 
afraid  to  hear  more  ;  "  restrain  the  violence  of  Chalais, 
who  loves  you  well  and  will  obey  you.  I  will  temper 
the  indiscretion  of  the  Duchess.  She  is  an  excellent 
lieutenant,  inspired  in  her  readiness  of  resource  and 
ingenuity  in  intrigue  ;  but — she  is  a  bad  general.  We 
must  be  careful,  Gaston,  or  we  shall  all  find  ourselves 
prisoners  in  the  Bastille." 

"  No,  by  Saint  Paul  !  not  so,  my  sister,"  and  Mon- 
sieur laughs  gaily,  for  his  facile  nature  dwelt  upon 
nothing  long,  and  his  thoughts  had  now  been  diverted 
into  other  channels.  "  No  ;  but  we  will  have  Riche- 
lieu there  !  Bassompierre  and  D'Ornano  are  with  us  ; 
they  swear  that  they  will  shut  him  up  in  an  iron  cage 
— as  Louis  XL  did  Cardinal  Balue — for  life,  and  feed 
him  on  bread  and  water.  Corps  dc  Dieu  !  I  should 
like  to  see  it." 

"  But  I  will  have  no  blood  shed,"  rejoins  the 
Queen  ;  "  remember  that." 

"  My  sister,  your  word  is  law.  When  I  have 
learnt  more  from  Chalais,  I  will  inform  you  of  every 
detail." 

They  had  now  reached  the  chateau.  The  windows 
shone  with  light.  Torches  fixed  in  the  ground  burnt 
round  the  great  quadrangle,  and  a  guard  of  mus- 
keteers, assembled  near  the  entrance,  presented  arms 
as  the  Queen  passed. 

A  page  appeared,  and  handed  a  despatch  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Merigny,  who  had  now  joined  the  Queen. 
She  presented  it  to  her  Majesty.  Anne  broke  the 
seals.  As  she  read  she  coloured,  then  laughed. 
"  Gaston,"  whispered  she,  turning  to  Monsieur,  "  this 
is  the  most  extraordinary  coincidence.  We  have 


The  Cardinal  Duped.  263 

been  talking  of  the  Cardinal,  and  here  is  a  letter  from 
him  in  which  he  craves  a  private  audience.  You 
shall  learn  by-and-by  what  it  means." 

"Par  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  Monsieur,  full  of  wonder. 

"  Tell  no  one  of  this  but  Chalais,"  again  whispered 
the  Queen.  Then  she  lightly  laid  her  small  hand 
within  that  of  Monsieur ;  they  mounted  the  grand 
staircase  together,  and  passed  through  the  long  suite 
of  the  royal  apartments.  All  were  blazing  with  light ; 
on  either  side  of  the  great  gallery  stood  the  Court, 
ranged  in  two  lines,  waiting  her  Majesty's  pleasure. 
As  she  passed,  led  by  Monsieur,  she  bowed  slightly, 
and,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  dismissed  the  assem- 
bly. At  the  door  leading  to  her  private  apartment 
Monsieur  pressed  her  hand,  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and, 
glancing  at  her  significantly,  bowed  and  retired. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE   CARDINAL   DUPED. 

ANNE  OF  AUSTRIA  seated  herself  beside  a  fire 
which  burnt  on  the  hearth.     She  signed  to  her 
attendants  to  withdraw. 

"  Send  hither  to  me  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse, 
if  she  has  returned  to  the  chateau,"  said  she  to  one 
of  the  pages  in  waiting.  Then  Anne  drew  from  her 
bosom  the  letter  she  had  just  received.  "  It  is  in- 
credible," said  she,  speaking  to  herself,  "  that  he 
should  so  compromise  himself !  Pride  has  turned 
his  brain.  Now  it  is  mv  turn,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal." 


264  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

The  Duchess  entered  hastily.  "  Read,  ma  belle, 
read,"  cried  Anne,  holding  out  the  despatch  to  her, 
"  the  fates  favour  us.  Let  us  a  lay  a  trap  for  this 
wicked  prelate." 

"  Ma  foi,"  replied  the  Duchess,  after  having  re- 
perused  the  letter  contained  in  the  despatch,  "  even 
I  could  not  have  contrived  it  better.  Here  is  the 
Cardinal  craving  a  private  audience  of  your  Majesty 
in  the  absence  of  the  King.  It  will  be  a  declaration 
in  form — such  as  he  made  to  me." 

"A  declaration  to  me,  Duchess?  He  would  not 
dare " 

"  Madame,  he  has  been  a  soldier,  and  has  passed 
his  life  along  with  a  great  queen.  He  believes  him- 
self irresistible.  Who  knows  if  Marie  de'  Medici  did 
not  tell  him  so?"  Anne  of  Austria  looked  displeased. 
"  Pardon  me,  Madame,  this  saucy  Cardinal,  whom  I 
call  the  Court-knave,  makes  me  forget  myself.  Your 
Majesty  must  receive  him  graciously." 

"  Yes,  he  shall  come,"  cried  Anne  ;  "  he  shall  come 
and  pay  for  his  audacity,  the  hypocrite  !  But  tell 
me,  Duchess,  tell  me  instantly,  how  can  I  best  re- 
venge myself?  I  have  a  long  account  to  settle. 
Shall  I  command  my  valets,  Laporte  and  Putange, 
to  hide  behind  the  arras  and  beat  him  until  he  is 
half  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame,  that  would  be  too  dangerous;  he 
might  cut  off  your  head  in  revenge,  a  la  reim  Anne 
Boleyn.  We  must  mortify  him — wound  his  vanity  : 
no  vengeance  equal  to  that  with  a  man  like  the  Car- 
dinal. He  is  intensely  conceited,  and  proud  of  his 
figure.  He  imagines  that  he  is  graceful  and  alluring 
— perhaps  he  has  been  told  so  by  her  Majesty — I  beg 


The  Cardinal  Duped.  265 

your  pardon,  Madame  " — and  the  Duchess  stopped 
and  pursed  up  her  lips,  as  if  she  could  say  more  but 
dared  not. 

"  Did  Marion  de  I'Orme  betray  him  ?  "  asked  the 
Queen  slily,  "  or  do  you  speak  on  your  own  knowl- 
edge ?  " 

"  I  have  it !  "  cried  Madame  de  Chevreuse — not 
noticing  the  Queen's  question — and  her  mischievous 
eyes  danced  with  glee.  "  I  will  meet  him  when  he 
comes  to-morrow,  and  persuade  him  to  appear  in  the 
dress  of  a  Spaniard,  out  of  compliment  to  you.  Stay, 
he  shall  dance,  too,  and  we  will  provide  a  mandoline 
to  accompany  his  voice.  I  will  tell  him  that  you  have 
long  admired  him  in  secret,  and  that  if  he  appears  in 
so  becoming  a  costume  he  is  sure  to  be  well  received. 
A  Spanish  costume,  too,  for  he  knows  how  you  adore 
Spain,  the  spy — then  he  shall  dance  a  sarabande,  a 
bolero  a  rEspagnol,  or  sing " 

"Ha!  ha!  Duchess,  you  are  impayable"  and  the 
Queen  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
"  But  will  he  be  fool  enough  to  believe  you  ?  If  he 
does,  I  will  kill  him  with  scorn,  the  daring  Cardinal !  " 
and  Anne  of  Austria  drew  herself  up,  looked  into  an 
opposite  mirror,  shook  her  golden  curls,  and  laughed 
again. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  hour  of  the  Queen's 
lever,  the  Cardinal  arrived.  The  Duchesse  de  Chev- 
reuse met  him  and  conducted  him  to  a  room  near 
the  Queen's  saloon.  She  carefully  closed  the  door, 
begged  him  to  be  seated,  and,  with  an  air  of  great 
mystery,  requested  him  to  listen  to  her  before  his 
arrival  was  announced  to  her  Majesty.  The  Cardinal 
was  greatly  taken  aback  at  finding  himself  alone  with 


266  Old  Court  Life    in  France. 

the  Duchess.  She  looked  so  seductive ;  the  dark 
tints  of  her  luxuriant  hair,  hanging  about  her  neck 
and  shoulders,  harmonised  so  well  with  her  brunette 
complexion,  her  brown  eyes  bent  smilingly  upon 
him,  her  delicate  robe  clinging  to  her  tall  figure,  that 
he  was  almost  tempted  to  repent  his  infidelity  to 
her,  and  that  he  had  come  for  any  other  than  for 
her. 

"Your  eminence  is  surprised  to  see  me,"  said  she, 
smiling,  and  speaking  in  the  softest  voice,  and  with 
the  utmost  apparent  frankness,  "  but  I  am  not  in  the 
least  jealous,"  and  she  shook  her  finger  at  him. 

The  Cardinal  reddened,  and  looked  confused. 

"  Do  you,  then,  Duchess,  guess  on  what  errand  I 
have  come  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  perfectly ;  when  I  heard  you  had  re- 
quested a  private  audience  in  the  absence  of  the 
King,  I  understood  the  rest." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  indiscreet,"  said  Richelieu, 
and  he  sighed,  "  but  I  was  anxious  to  explain  my 
position  to  the  Queen.  I  fear  that  she  misconceives 
me  ;  that  she  looks  on  me  as  her  enemy  ;  that  she 
imagines  that  I  prejudice  the  King  against  her.  I 
desire  to  explain  my  feelings  to  her;  they  are  of  a 
mixed  nature." 

"  So  I  would  suppose,"  answered  Madame  de 
Chevreuse,  primly,  almost  bursting  with  suppressed 
laughter. 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  madame,  that  her  Majesty 
might  be  induced  to  lay  aside  her  silence,  her 
reserve?  Are  you  authorised  to  admit  me  to  her 
presence  ?  " 

"  I  am,  Cardinal." 


The  Cardinal  Duped.  267 

Richelieu's  face  flushed  deep,  his  eyes  glistened. 

"  To  a  certain  extent,"  continued  the  Duchess, 
"  the  Queen  is  gratified  by  your  homage.  Her 
Majesty  has  noted  your  slim  yet  manly  form,  your 
expressive  eyes.  She  admires  your  great  talents." 

"Do  I  dream?"  exclaimed  Richelieu.  "You, 
madame,  are  indeed  magnanimous.  I  feared  that 
you  might  be  indignant  at  what  you  might  consider 
my  inconstancy." 

"  No,  Cardinal,  you  could  not  be  inconstant,  for 
you  were  never  loved." 

Richelieu  started. 

"  By  me — I  mean  to  say,  your  eminence.  You 
really  should  spare  me,"  added  she,  affectedly ;  "  but 
I  suppose  I  must  speak.  Anne  of  Austria,  the 
daughter  of  a  hundred  kings,  the  wife  of  your  Sov- 
ereign, secretly  loves  you,  monseigneur.  It  is 
astonishing  your  extraordinary  penetration  never 
discovered  this  before.  Since  you  went  into  the 
Church  you  must  have  grown  modest ;  but  love  is 
blind,  says  the  motto,"  and  the  Duchess  was  obliged 
to  hold  her  handkerchief  to  her  face  to  hide  her 
laughter. 

"  What  words  of  ecstacy  do  you  utter,  adorable 
Duchess !  But  you  must  be  aware  of  the  coldness, 
the  insulting  scorn  which  the  lovely  Queen  has 
hitherto  shown  towards  me.  How  could  I  venture 
to  guess " 

"  Ah,  Cardinal,  it  is  easy  to  see  you  are  not  so 
advanced  in  the  art  of  love  as  of  politics.  Let  me 
advise  you  to  read  Ovid— a  little  of  The  Art  of  Love 
— pour  vous  remettrc.  Did  you  learn  so  little,  then, 
from  her  late  Majesty,  Marie  de'  Medici,  as  not  to 


268  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

know  that  where  most  Cupid  triumphs  he  most  con- 
ceals his  wicked  little  person  ?  That  very  coldness 
and  scorn  you  speak  of  are  but  proofs  of  the  Queen's 
passion.  But  let  me  tell  you  one  thing  :  the  Queen 
fears  you  may  deceive — betray  her;  and  you  must 
excuse  her  in  this,  when  you  remember,  monseig- 
neur,  certain  tales  of  treachery — all  utterly  false,  of 
course — but  then  pardon  a  woman's  fears.  You 
must,  to  speak  plainly,  give  her  some  undoubted 
proof  of  your  love." 

"  Madame,  you  cannot  doubt  after  what  I  have 
just  heard  that  I  can  hesitate  in  promising  to  do  all 
and  everything  my  royal  mistress  can  desire." 

The  Duchess  confessed  afterwards  to  the  Queen, 
that  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  she  could  keep 
her  countenance,  so  absolutely  farcical  were  his 
transports. 

"  Have  a  care  what  you  promise,"  said  the  Duchess 
to  the  Cardinal  ;  "  the  Queen  is  very  bizarre,  and 
perhaps  may  require  something  impracticable." 

"  Madame,"  replied  Richelieu,  "  to  me  nothing  in 
this  realm  is  impracticable  ;  speak  only  her  Majesty's 
wishes,  and  I  hasten  to  obey  them." 

"  Well,  then,  to-night  you  must  come  at  dusk  to 
her  apartments."  The  Cardinal  bounded  from  his 
chair  with  delight.  "  To-night  ;  but  not  in  this 
sombre,  melancholy  dress  ;  you  must  wear  a  toilette 
a  little  convenable  to  the  part  you  hope  to  act- 
something  brilliant,  gaudy — un  pantalon  vert,  par 
exempted  The  Cardinal  started.  "  At  your  knees 
little  bells  must  be  fastened.  You  must  have  a  vel- 
vet jacket,  scarlet  scarf,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  etceteras 
of  a  Spanish  dress.  It  will  please  the  Queen,  and 


The   Cardinal  Duped,  269 

pay  her  a  delicate  compliment,  to  which,  believe  me, 
she  will  not  be  insensible." 

All  this  time  Richelieu  had  listened  to  the  Duchess 
in  an  agony  of  surprise  and  amazement.  "  But, 
madame,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  this  is  impossible.  I, 
a  dignitary  of  the  Church,  a  Cardinal.  Much  as  I 
desire  to  show  my  devotion  to  the  Queen,  she  her- 
self cannot  expect  from  me  so  strange,  so  extraor- 
dinary a  proof — 

"  Certainly,  monseigneur,  it  is  an  extreme  proof  of 
your  devotion,  and  as  such  the  Queen  will  regard  it. 
She  will  be  gratified,  and  at  the  same  time  will  be 
thoroughly  convinced  of  your  sincerity.  However, 
pray  do  as  you  please,"  and  the  Duchess  shrugged 
her  shoulders ;  "  I  merely  mention  her  Majesty's 
wishes ;  you  are  quite  at  liberty  to  refuse.  I  shall 
therefore,"  and  she  rose,  "  report  your  refusal." 

"  Stop,  Duchess,  stop,  I  entreat  you  !  "  interrupted 
Richelieu,  "  you  are  so  precipitate  !  I  will — I  must ! 
(But  what  a  fearful  degradation  !  I,  the  prime  min- 
ister of  France,  a  prince  of  the  Church,  to  appear  in 
the  disguise  of  a  mountebank !)  Ah,  madame,  her 
Majesty  is  too  hard  on  me  ;  but  I  adore,  I  worship 
her  too  much  to  refuse.  Yes, — her  wishes  are  my 
law ;  I  cannot,  I  dare  not  refuse.  Tell  the  Queen, 
at  twilight  this  evening,  I  will  present  myself  in  her 
apartments." 

The  Duchess  waited  no  longer,  but  flew  to  ac- 
quaint the  Queen  with  her  success.  Neither  could 
for  a  long  time  articulate  a  single  syllable,  they  were 
so  overcome  with  laughter.  Music  was  introduced 
behind  the  arras,  for  the  Cardinal  was  to  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  dance  a  sarabande.  Then  they  impa- 


270  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

tiently  awaited  the  moment  of  his  arrival.  At  last, 
enveloped  in  a  Spanish  cloak  that  entirely  concealed 
his  dress,  the  Cardinal  entered.  He  was  hastily  rushing 
towards  the  Queen — Heaven  only  knows  with  what 
intentions — when  Madame  de  Chevreuse  interposed  : 

"  Not  yet,  Cardinal — not  yet ;  you  must  show  us 
your  dress  first,  then  you  must  dance  a  sarabandc,  a 
bolero — something.  Her  Majesty  has  heard  of  your 
accomplishments  and  insists  on  it." 

"Yes,"  cried  Anne  of  Austria,  "I  insist  on  it, 
monseigneur,  and  have  provided  the  music  accord- 
ingly." 

The  violins  now  struck  up.  Richelieu  looked  con- 
founded. He  was  almost  on  the  point  of  rushing 
out,  when  a  few  words  whispered  to  him  by  the 
Duchess  arrested  him ;  they  acted  like  a  charm. 
Casting  one  deep,  impassioned  glance  at  the  Queen, 
who  sat  at  a  little  distance  reposing  on  a  couch, 
ravishing  in  beauty,  her  rosy  lips  swelling  with 
ill-suppressed  scorn,  he  threw  down  his  cloak,  dis- 
playing his  extraordinary  dress,  bells,  scarlet  scarf 
and  all,  and  began  to  dance — yes,  to  dance  ! 

Poor  man  !  he  was  no  longer  young,  and  was  stiff 
from  want  of  practice ;  so  after  a  few  clumsy  en- 
trechats and  pirouettes,  he  stopped.  He  was  quite 
red  in  the  face  and  out  of  breath.  He  looked  hor- 
ribly savage  for  a  few  moments.  The  music  stopped 
also,  and  there  was  a  pause.  Then  he  advanced 
towards  the  Queen,  the  little  bells  tinkling  as  he 
moved. 

"  Your  Majesty  must  now  be  convinced  of  my 
devotion.  Deign,  most  adorable  Princess,  to  permit 
me  to  kiss  that  exquisite  hand." 


CARDINAL  RICHELIEU. 


The  Maid  of  Honour.  271 

The  Queen  listened  to  him  in  solemn  silence. 
The  Duchess  leaned  behind  her  couch,  a  smile  of 
gratified  malice  on  her  face.  The  Cardinal,  motion- 
less before  them,  awaited  her  reply.  Then  Anne  of 
Austria  rose,  and,  looking  him  full  in  the  face, 
measured  him  from  head  to  foot.  Anger,  contempt, 
and  scorn  flashed  in  her  eyes.  At  last  she  spoke — 
ineffable  disgust  and  disdain  in  her  tone — "Your 
eminence  is,  I  rejoice  to  see,  good  for  something 
better  than  a  spy.  I  had  hitherto  doubted  it.  You 
have  diverted  me  immensely.  But  take  my  advice ; 
when  you  next  feel  inclined  to  pay  your  addresses 
to  the  Queen  of  France,  get  yourself  shut  up  by 
your  friends  for  an  old  fool.  Now  you  may  go." 

Richelieu,  who  had  gradually  turned  livid  while 
the  Queen  spoke,  waited  to  hear  no  more.  He  cov- 
ered himself  with  his  cloak  and  rushed  headlong 
from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE   MAID    OF   HONOUR. 

THE  King  returns  to  Saint-Germain  as  suddenly 
as  he  had  departed  ;  he  commands  a  hunt  in 
the  forest  at  noon.  The  chateau  wears  an  air  of 
unusual  gaiety.  The  King  and  Queen  start  together 
from  the  quadrangle,  but  they  do  not  address  each 
other.  Anne,  who  rides  on  in  front,  attended  by 
Monsieur,  is  positively  dazzling  in  her  sunny  beauty. 
Her  delicate  cheeks  are  flushed  with  excitement.  A 


272  Old  Court  Life    in  France. 

small  velvet  cap,  with  a  heron's  plume,  rests  on  her 
head,  and  an  emerald-coloured  riding-dress,  bordered 
with  gold,  sets  off  her  rounded  figure.  She  is  fol- 
lowed by  her  ladies,  many  of  whom  wear  masks  to 
protect  their  complexions.  The  maids  of  honour 
are  in  blue,  with  large  hats  overtopped  by  enormous 
feathers. 

Near  them  rides  the  King.  He  is  much  too  shy 
to  address  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  before  such  an 
assemblage ;  but  his  eyes  constantly  follow  her,  and 
he  is  infinitely  gratified  by  the  reserve  of  her  manner 
towards  the  young  gallants  of  the  Court.  Behind 
him  rides  the  Grand  Falconer,  followed  by  the  hunts- 
men, the  piqncnr,  the  whippers-in,  and  the  falcons, 
hooded  and  chained  to  the  wrists  of  their  bearers. 
Last  come  the  dogs — the  sad  King's  special  favour- 
ites. The  brilliant  cavalcade  flashes  among  the 
glades,  which  intersect  the  forest  in  every  direction. 
The  gaily  caparisoned  steeds,  and  their  still  gayer 
riders,  the  feathers,  the  lace,  the  embroider}-,  flutter 
in  and  out  among  the  openings  of  the  wood,  and  are 
lost  in  the  many  paths,  where  every  turn  is  so  like 
the  other,  yet  each  marked  by  some  special  beauty. 
Most  of  the  ladies  are  mounted  on  palfreys,  but  some 
prefer  litters  ;  others  are  drawn  up  and  down  in 
cumbrous  coaches,  that  threaten  each  moment  to 
overturn  on  the  gnarled  roots  of  beech  and  oak  that 
break  the  sward.  On  the  riders  dash  between  the 
giant  tree-trunks,  unhidden  by  the  luxuriant  foliage 
that  masses  the  woods  in  summer — for  the  season  is 
spring — and  the  trees  are  covered  with  but  a  slight 
shade  of  green  leaves  just  bursting  from  the  grey 
boughs.  Yonder  they  dart  under  a  pine-tree  that 


The  Maid  of  Honour.  273 

darkens  the  ground,  its  spiky  branches  casting  forth 
an  aromatic  perfume.  Then  beneath  a  cherry-tree, 
white  with  snowy  blossoms,  on  among  a  maze  of 
goss  and  yellow  broom  that  streak  the  underwood 
with  fire. 

The  birds  sing  in  the  bushes,  the  bees  buzz 
among  the  blossoms,  and  the  horses'  hoofs  crush  the 
tender  mosses  and  the  early  flowers  that  carpet  the 
ground.  At  the  approach  of  the  hunters  hares  and 
rabbits  run  lightly  away,  and  timid  does,  with  their 
young  at  their  side,  scamper  far  into  the  deepest 
recesses  of  the  woods.  Now  the  bugles  sound,  the 
dogs  bay  loudly ;  they  spread  themselves  from  side 
to  side  and  disappear  among  the  coppice,  and  the 
whole  glittering  company,  gilded  coaches,  litters  and 
all  follow  them,  and  dash  out  of  sight  and  are  hidden 
among  the  trees. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  hunt  should  lead  towards 
a  noble  mansion  lying  on  the  confines  of  the  forest, 
in  the  direction  of  Bondy,  where  the  host,  apprized 
of  the  intended  honour,  had  prepared  an  ample  col- 
lation. 

Etiquette  demanded  that  the  King  and  Queen 
should  be  served  apart  from  the  rest.  After  their 
repast  was  finished  and  their  attendants  had  with- 
drawn, the  Queen  approached  nearer  to  the  King. 
He  started  up  and  turned  towards  the  door.  Anne 
followed  him.  The  long  ride  in  the  forest  had 
flushed  her  cheeks.  She  looked  brilliant.  "Your 
Majesty  will  not  refuse  to  speak  to  me,  surely,"  said 
she  in  the  softest  tones  of  her  naturally  sweet  voice, 
and  she  raised  her  glorious  eyes,  which  would  have 
melted  any  other  man  but  Louis,  beseechingly. 


274  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

The  King  shook  his  head  sullenly. 

"  What  have  I  done  that  your  Majesty  should 
scorn  me?"  said  she,  stretching  out  her  beautiful 
hand  with  the  most  winning  gesture  to  detain  him. 

Louis  shrank  from  her  touch,  and  turned  his  back 
upon  her. 

"  Sire,  will  you  not  at  least  hear  me,  as  you  would 
hear  the  least  of  your  subjects  ?  "  and  the  Queen's 
eyes  filled  with  tears  and  her  hand  dropped  to  her 
side. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me?"  asked  Louis 
harshly,  not  looking  at  her. 

"  When  I  last  saw  your  Majesty  at  Compiegne," 
replied  she  with  a  faltering  voice,  "  your  mother,  the 
Queen-dowager  " — at  her  name  Louis  shuddered — 
"  was  mistress  of  the  palace  and  of  France.  She  sat 
at  the  royal  board  ;  she  presided  at  the  Council  of 
State ;  your  Majesty  obeyed  and  loved  her  as  a  son. 
She  is  now  a  prisoner — disgraced,  forsaken,  ill."  The 
Queen's  voice  became  so  unsteady  that  she  was 
obliged  to  stop,  and  unbidden  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks.  "  What  has  this  great  Queen  done  to  de- 
serve your  Majesty's  displeasure  ?  "  she  added  after 
a  pause. 

"  Madame,  it  is  no  affair  of  yours,"  answered  Louis 
gruffly.  "  I  refuse  to  give  you  my  reasons.  I  act 
according  to  the  advice  of  my  council.  Do  not  de- 
tain me,"  and  he  turned  again  to  leave  the  room. 
Anne  placed  herself  in  front  of  him  ;  her  head  was 
thrown  back,  her  figure  raised  to  its  full  height,  the 
tears  on  her  eyelids  were  dried  ;  she  was  no  longer 
timid,  but  exasperated. 

"  If  I  have  ventured  to  intercede  for  the  Queen- 


The  Maid  of  Honour,  275 

mother,"  said  she  with  dignity,  "  it  is  because  she 
implored  me  to  do  so.  She  wept  upon  my  bosom. 
Her  heart  was  all  but  broken.  I  comforted  her  as  a 
daughter.  I  promised  her  to  use  such  feeble  powers 
as  I  had,  to  soften  your  heart,  Sire.  It  is  a  sacred 
pledge  I  am  discharging." 

"  You  are  a  couple  of  hypocrites !  "  exclaimed 
Louis  with  great  irritation,  facing  round  upon  her. 
"  You  hate  each  other.  From  my  mother  I  have 
freed  myself  ;  but  you — "  and  he  surveyed  her 
savagely  from  head  to  foot — "  you,  Madame  Anne 
of  Austria,  you  remain. 

"  Yes,  I  remain,"  returned  Anne,  "  until,  as  I  am 
told,  you  crave  a  dispensation  from  the  Pope  and 
send  me  back  to  Madrid."  These  last  words  were 
spoken  slowly  and  with  marked  emphasis.  "  I  am 
a  childless  queen,"  and  she  shot  a  bitter  glance  at 
Louis,  who  now  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  and  lis- 
tened to  her  with  an  expression  of  speechless  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Who  told  you,  Madame,  that  I  sought  a  dispen- 
sation from  the  Pope,  and  to  send  you  back  to 
Madrid  ? "  asked  Louis  sharply.  Then,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head as  if  some  sudden  thought  had  struck  him, 
knit  his  brows,  and  was  lost  in  thought. 

"  I  have  heard  so,  no  matter  how,"  answered  the 
Queen  coolly,  "  and  on  excellent  authority.  Sire," 
she  cried  passionately,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  her 
feelings,  "  you  use  me  too  ill — rather  than  suffer 
as  I  do  I  will  leave  France  for  ever ;  I  will  not  bear 
the  mockery  of  being  called  your  wife — I  would 
rather  bury  myself  in  a  convent  at  Madrid." 


276  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Louis  was  so  completely  abstracted,  that  although 
he  had  asked  her  a  question,  he  had  forgotten  to 
listen  to  her  reply.  Now  he  caught  at  her  last  word. 

"  Madrid  ?  Yes,  Madame,  I  believe  it.  Your  heart 
is  there.  I  know  it  but  too  well.  Would  you  had 
never  left  Madrid  !  Ever  since  you  came  into  France 
you  have  desired  my  death  that  you  might  wed  a 
comelier  consort." 

Louis  could  scarcely  articulate,  so  violently  was 
he  excited.  Anne  did  not  stir,  only  her  glowing 
eyes  followed,  as  it  were,  each  word  he  uttered. 

"  You  talk  of  the  Queen-mother,  do  you  know 
that  she  warned  me  long  ago  that  you  were  dis- 
honouring me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sire,  if  you  forget  who  I  am,"  exclaimed 
the  Queen,  "  remember  at  least  that  I  am  a  woman  !  " 
and  she  burst  into  tears,  and  for  a  few  moments 
sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Can  you  deny  it,  Madame,"  continued  the  King, 
with  rising  fury,  his  mouth  twiching  nervously,  as 
was  his  wont  when  much  agitated — "  can  you  deny 
it  ?  Am  I  not  become  a  jest  among  my  own  cour- 
tiers? You,  the  Queen  of  France,  openly  encourage 
the  addresses  of  many  lovers.  You  are  wanting, 
Madame,  even  in  the  decency  of  the  reserve  be- 
coming your  high  station,"  and  Louis  clenched  his 
fist  with  rage. 

"  I  deny  what  you  say,"  returned  the  Queen 
boldly ;  "  I  have  discoursed  with  no  man  to  the  dis- 
honour of  your  Majesty."  She  was  trembling  vio- 
lently, but  she  spoke  firmly  and  with  dignity.  "  If 
I  am  wanting  in  concealment,"  added  she,  "  it  is 
because  I  have  nothing  to  conceal." 


The  Maid  of  Honour.  277 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  answered  the  King  rudely. 

"  No,  Sire,  you  do  not,  because  you  are  my  enemy. 
Your  mind  is  poisoned  against  me.  You  encourage 
the  lies  of  Richelieu,  you  slander  me  to  my  own 
attendants.  Worse  than  all,  you  dare  to  couple  my 
name  with  that  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  your  own 
brother.  It  is  a  gross  calumny." 

Her  voice  rose  as  she  spoke  ;  the  power  of  truth 
and  innocence  was  in  her  look — it  was  impossible 
not  to  believe  her.  For  an  instant  the  King's  sus- 
picions seemed  shaken.  He  followed  eagerly  every 
word  she  uttered  ;  but  at  the  name  of  Monsieur  a 
livid  paleness  overspread  his  face  ;  for  a  moment  he 
looked  as  if  he  would  have  swooned.  Then  recov- 
ering himself  somewhat  he  came  close  up  to  her, 
and  with  a  wild  look  he  scanned  her  curiously,  as 
though  to  read  some  answer  to  his  suspicions. 
"  Who  can  have  told  her?  who  can  have  told  her?" 
he  muttered  half  aloud — "  a  secret  of  state  too.  It 
is  not  possible  that —  The  last  words  were  spoken 
so  low  that  they  were  lost.  Louis  was  evidently 
struggling  with  some  painful  but  overwhelming  con- 
viction. His  head  sunk  on  his  breast.  Again  he 
became  lost  in  thought.  Then,  looking  up,  he  saw 
that  the  Queen  was  watching  him.  She  was  waiting 
for  him  to  speak.  This  awakened  him  suddenly  to 
a  consciousness  of  what  was  passing,  and  his  anger 
burst  forth  afresh. 

"You  say  I  am  your  enemy — yes,  I  am,  and  with 
reason.  Are  you  not  devoted  to  the  interests  of 
Spain,  now  at  war  with  France  ?  Do  you  not  betray 
me  in  letters  to  your  brother  ?  Answer  me."  It  was 
now  the  Queen's  turn  to  falter  and  turn  pale.  The 


278  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

King  perceived  it.  •"  I  have  you  there,  Madame 
Anne  ;  I  have  you  there  ;  "  and  he  laughed  vindic- 
tively. "  My  life  is  not  safe  beside  you.  Like  my 
great  father,  I  shall  die  by  an  assassin  whose  hand 
will  be  directed  by  my  wife  !  "  A  cold  shiver  passed 
over  him.  "  Richelieu  has  proofs.  Vrai  Dicii, 
Madame,  he  has  proofs.  It  is  possible,"  he  added, 
with  a  sardonic  smile,  which  made  him  look  ghastly, 
"  that  you  may  return  to  Madrid  sooner  than  you 
imagine — you  and  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  your 
accomplice." 

"  Not  sooner  than  I  desire,  Sire,  after  your  un- 
worthy treatment,"  exclaimed  Anne,  proudly,  her 
anger  overcoming  her  fears  that  her  letters  might 
have  been  really  deciphered.  "  I  come  of  a  race  that 
cannot  brook  insult ;  but  I  can  bear  disgrace." 

Louis,  who  felt  that  the  Queen  was  getting  the 
better  of  him,  grew  furious — "  I  will  have  no  more 
words,  Madame,"  shouted  he  ;  "  we  will  deal  with 
facts.  I  shall  appeal  to  my  minister  and  to  my 
council.  For  myself,  I  am  not  fit  to  govern,"  he 
added,  in  an  altered  voice,  and  with  the  forlorn  air 
of  a  man  who  cannot  help  himself. 

"  Speak  not  to  me,  Sire,  of  Richelieu  and  the 
council  over  which  he  presides,"  cried  Anne,  goaded 
beyond  endurance.  "  Richelieu  is  a  traitor,  a  hypo- 
crite, a  libertine — not  even  his  sovereign's  wife  is 
sacred  to  him  !  " 

"  Ah,  Madame,  it  is  natural  that  you  and  Riche- 
lieu should  disagree,"  retorted  the  King,  with  an 
incredulous  sneer.  "  He  is  a  match  for  you  and  for 
the  Duchess  your  counsellor — the  Duchess  whose 
life  disgraces  my  Court." 


The  Maid  of  Honour.  279 

Anne  had  now  thrown  herself  into  a  chair,  her 
hands  were  crossed  on  her  bosom,  her  eyes  bent 
steadily  on  the  King,  as  if  prepared  for  whatever 
fresh  extravagance  he  might  utter.  Even  the  en- 
raged Louis  felt  the  influence  of  her  fixed,  stern  gaze. 
He  ceased  speaking,  grew  suddenly  confused,  paced 
up  and  down  hurriedly,  stopped,  essayed  again  to 
address  her — then  abruptly  strode  out  of  the  room. 

The  Queen  and  her  ladies  are  seated  on  a  stone 
balcony  that  overlooks  the  parterre  and  the  park  of 
Saint-Germain.  Below,  the  King's  violins  are  play- 
ing some  music  of  his  composition,  set  to  words  in 
praise  of  friendship,  full  of  covert  allusions  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Hautefort.  The  Queen's  fair  young 
face  is  clouded  with  care  ;  she  leans  back  listlessly 
in  her  chair,  and  takes  no  heed  of  the  music  or  of 
what  is  passing  around  her.  The  Chevalier  de  Jars 
approaches  her.  There  is  something  in  his  air  that 
alarms  her  ;  she  signs  to  him  to  place  himself  beside 
her. 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  conscious  that  every 
one  is  watching  the  effect  of  the  music  and  the 
words  upon  her,  sits  apart  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
gallery,  from  which  the  balcony  projects,  almost 
concealed  from  view.  A  door  near  her  opens  noise- 
lessly, and  the  King  puts  in  his  head.  He  peers 
round  cautiously,  sees  that  no  one  has  perceived 
him,  and  that  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  is  alone, 
then  he  creeps  in  and  seats  himself  by  her  side.  He 
looks  saddened  and  perplexed. 

"  Why  do  you  shun  me?  "  he  asks,  abruptly. 

'•  You  have  been  absent,  Sire." 


280  Old  Court  Life  in  Prance. 

"  Did  you  miss  me?  "  His  voice  sounds  so  strange 
and  hollow  that  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  looks  up 
into  his  face.  Something  has  happened  ;  what  could 
it  be  ?  Some  misfortune  to  the  Queen  is  always  her 
first  thought.  Before  she  can  reply,  Louis  sighs  pro- 
foundly, so  profoundly  that  he  almost  groans,  con- 
templating her,  at  the  same  time,  with  looks  of 
inexpressible  sorrow.  "  Alas  !  "  exclaims  he  at  last, 
"  I  had  hoped  so  much  from  this  interview  when  we 
parted  at  Fontainebleau  ;  I  have  lived  upon  the 
thought,  and  now — my  dream  is  ended  ;  all  is  over !  " 
The  maid  of  honour  grows  alarmed  :  either  he  is  gone 
mad,  she  thinks,  or  something  dreadful  has  happened. 

"  I  cannot  conceive  what  you  mean,  Sire  ?  "  she 
replies,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"Are  you,  too,  false?  "  he  continues,  ''  with  those 
eyes  so  full  of  truth  ?  Yet  it  must  be  you,  it  can 
be  no  other.  False  like  the  rest ;  a  devil  with  an 
angel's  face  !  "  The  maid  of  honour  is  more  and  more 
amazed.  "  Yet  I  trusted  you  ;  with  my  whole  heart 
I  trusted  you,"  and  he  turns  to  her  with  a  piteous 
expression,  and  wrings  his  hands.  "  I  unfolded  to 
you  my  forlorn  and  desolate  condition.  It  might 
have  touched  you.  Tell  me,"  he  continues,  in  a  tone 
of  anguish,  "  tell  me  the  truth  ;  was  it  you  who 
betrayed  me  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  is  terribly  confused. 
She  understands  now  what  the  King  means  ;  a  mor- 
tal terror  seizes  her  ;  what  shall  she  say  to  him  ?  She 
is  too  conscientious  to  deny  point-blank  that  she  has 
told  his  secret,  so  she  replies  evasively,  "that  she  is 
his  Majesty's  faithful  servant." 

"  But,  speak,"  insists  the  King,  "  give  me  a  plain 


The  Maid  of  Honour.  281 

answer.  How  does  the  Queen  know  a  state  secret, 
that  I  confided  to  you  alone,  that  I  even  whispered 
in  your  ear  ?  " 

"  Sire,  I — I  do  not  know,"  falters  the  maid  of 
honour. 

"  Swear  to  me,  mademoiselle,  that  you  have  not 
betrayed  me  to  the  Queen  ;  swear,  and  I  will  believe 
you.  Pardieu  !  I  will  believe  you  even  if  it  is  not 
true!"  Louis's  eyes  shine  with  hidden  fire;  his 
slight  frame  quivers. 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  trembling  for  her 
mistress,  with  difficulty  controls  herself.  "  Your 
Majesty  must  judge  me  as  you  please,"  she  replies, 
struggling  to  speak  with  unconcern.  "  I  call  God 
to  witness  I  have  been  faithful  to  my  trust." 

"  I  would  fain  believe  it,"  replies  the  King,  watch- 
ing her  in  painful  suspense  ;  he  seems  to  wait  for 
some  further  justification,  but  not  another  syllable 
passes  her  lips.  Still  the  King  lingers  ;  his  looks  are 
riveted  upon  her. 

At  this  moment  the  music  ceases.  The  maid  of 
honour  starts  up,  for  the  Queen  has  left  the  balcony. 
The  King  had  vanished. 

Anne  of  Austria,  quitting  those  around  her,  ad- 
vances alone  to  the  spot  where  Mademoiselle  de 
Hautefort  had  been  talking  with  the  King.  "  I  am 
going  at  once  to  the  Val  de  Grace,"  she  whispers  in 
great  agitation. 

"Indeed,  Madame;  so  suddenly?" 

"Yes,  at  once.  I  have  just  heard  from  the  Chev- 
alier de  Jars  that  Chalais  is  arrested  at  Nantes.  He 
accuses  me  andtheDuchesse  de  Chevreuseof  conspir- 
ing with  him.  Richelieu  meditates  some  coup  de  main 


282  Old  Court  Life  in   France. 

against  me.  I  shall  be  safe  at  the  Val  de  Grace. 
You  and  the  Duchess  will  accompany  me.  Here  is 
a  letter  I  have -written  in  pencil  to  my  brother ;  it  is 
most  important.  I  dare  not  carry  it  about  me  ;  take 
care  to  deliver  it  yourself  to  Laporte." 

The  Queen  drew  from  her  pocket  a  letter,  placed 
it  in  the  maid  of  honour's  hand,  and  hastened  back 
to  rejoin  the  company.  Mademoiselle  was  about  to 
follow  her,  when  Louis  suddenly  rose  up  before  her, 
and  barred  her  advance. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
heard  all.  I  was  concealed  behind  that  curtain.  Give 
me  that  letter,  written  by  my  wife,  I  command  you." 

"  Never,  Sire,  never !  "  and  Mademoiselle  de  Haute- 
fort crushed  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  How — dare  you  refuse  me  ?  Give  it  to  me  in- 
stantly !  "  and  he  tried  to  tear  it  from  her  grasp. 
She  eluded  him,  retreated  a  few  steps,  and  paused 
for  a  moment  to  think,  then,  as  if  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion had  struck  her,  she  opened  the  lace  kerchief 
which  covered  her  neck,  thrust  the  letter  into  her 
bosom,  and  exclaimed  : — 

"  Here  it  is,  Sire  ;  come  and  take  it  !  " 

With  outstretched  arms  she  stood  before  him  ; 
her  cheeks  aglow  with  blushes,  her  bosom  wildly 
heaving.  Wistfully  he  regarded  her  for  a  moment, 
then  thrust  out  his  hand  to  seize  the  letter,  plainly 
visible  beneath  the  gauzy  covering.  One  glance  from 
her  flashing  eye,  and  the  King,  crimson  to  the  tem- 
ples, drew  back  ;  irresistibly  impelled,  he  advanced 
again  and  once  more  retreated,  then  with  a  look  of 
baffled  fury  shouted,  "  Now  I  know  you  are  a  trai- 
tress ! "  and  rushed  from  the  gallery. 


At   Val  de  Grace.  283 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

AT    VAL   DE    GRACK. 

THE  ancient  Benedictine  abbey  of  the  Val  Pro- 
fond,  near  Bievre  le  Chalet,  three  leagues  from 
Paris,  was  founded  by  Robert,  son  of  Hugh  Capet. 
Soon  after  her  arrival  in  France,  Anne  of  Austria 
bought  the  ground  upon  which  the  then  ruined  abbey 
stood,  moved  the  nuns  to  Paris,  and  placed  them  in 
a  convent  called  the  Val  de  Grace,*  under  the  Mont 
Parnasse,  near  the  Luxembourg  Gardens.  To  this 
convent  of  the  Val  de  Grace  the  Queen  often  re- 
sorted to  seek  in  prayer  and  meditation  (for  she  was 
eminently  pious),  consolation  and  repose.  On  these 
occasions  she  occupied  a  suite  of  rooms  specially  set 
apart  for  her  use. 

It  is  a  bright  morning,  and  the  sunshine  streams 
through  the  painted  windows,  and  streaks  the  marble 
floor  of  the  Queen's  oratory  with  chequered  colours. 
To  the  east,  under  a  lofty  window,  stands  an  altar, 
covered  with  a  costly  cloth,  on  which,  in  golden 
sconces,  burn  many  votive  candles.  Anne  of  Austria 
is  seated  in  a  recess,  on  a  carved  chair  of  dark  oak. 
She  is  dressed  in  black,  her  golden  curls  are  gathered 
under  a  sober  coif ;  she  looks  pale,  and  ill  at  ease ; 
her  eyes,  dulled  by  want  of  sleep,  are  anxious  and 
restless,  but  there  is  a  resolution  in  her  bearing  that 
shows  she  is  prepared  to  meet  whatever  calamity 
awaits  her  with  the  courage  of  her  race.  Mademoi- 

*See  Note  23. 


284  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

selle  de  Hautefort  sits  on  a  low  stool  at  her  feet. 
She  is  weeping  bitterly. 

"  Ah !  Madame,"  she  sobs,  "  this  is  Richelieu's 
revenge.  It  is  all  his  doing.  How  could  your 
Majesty  listen  to  the  advice  of  that  wild  Duchess, 
and  affront  him  so  cruelly  at  Saint-Germain  ?  Alas ! 
he  will  persecute  you  as  long  as  he  lives." 

"  I  cannot  recall  the  past,"  answers  Anne  sadly. 

"  Had  you  reposed  confidence  in  me,  Madame, 
this  would  never  have  happened.  Madame  de  Chev- 
reuse  has  sacrificed  you  to  her  love  of  intrigue." 

"  My  poor  Chevreuse,  she  is  no  more  to  blame 
than  I  am.  Where  is  the  Duchess,  mademoiselle?" 

While  the  Queen  speaks  a  sound  of  wheels  enter- 
ing the  courtyard  from  the  street  of  Saint-Jacques 
breaks  the  silence.  A  moment  after  Madame  de 
Chevreuse  rushes  into  the  oratory,  so  hidden  in  a 
black  hood  and  a  long  cloak  that  no  one  would  have 
recognised  her.  She  flings  herself  on  her  knees  be- 
fore the  Queen,  and  grasps  her  hands. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  mistress,  you  are  saved  !  "  she  cries, 
breathlessly.  Anne  raises  her  and  kisses  her  ten- 
derly. "  I  am  just  come  from  the  Bastille.  I  went 
there  disguised  as  a  priest.  I  have  seen  Chalais. 
The  Cardinal  interpreted  what  Chalais  said — pur- 
posely, of  course — into  meaning  an  attempt  upon 
the  life  of  the  King." 

"  Great  God  !  "  exclaims  Anne,  turning  her  glisten- 
ing eyes  to  heaven,  "  what  wickedness  !  " 

"  The  King  has  joined  the  Cardinal  in  a  purpose 
to  prosecute  your  Majesty  for  treason.  His  Majesty 
is  furious.  He  declares  that  he  will  repudiate  you, 
and  send  you  back  into  Spain.  He  has  commanded 


At   Val  de    Grace.  285 

the  Chancellor  Seguier  and  the  Archbishop  of  Paris 
to  repair  here  to  the  convent  of  the  Val  de  Grace 
to  search  your  private  papers  for  proofs  of  your 
guilt  and  of  your  treasonable  intrigues  with  Spain. 
They  are  close  at  hand.  I  feared  lest  they  had 
already  arrived  before  I  could  return  and  apprise 
your  Majesty." 

"But  what  of  Chalais?"  cries  Anne.  "Why  did 
you  visit  him  in  the  Bastille?" 

"  To  learn  what  had  passed  between  him  and  the 
Cardinal.  We  must  all  tell  the  same  story.  Chalais 
confesses  to  me  that,  in  the  confusion  of  his  arrest 
at  Nantes,  he  did  let  fall  some  expressions  connect- 
ing your  Majesty,  Monsieur,  and  myself  with  the 
plot  against  Richelieu,  and  that  when  questioned  he 
avowed  that  he  acted  with  your  knowledge." 

"  Ah,  the  coward  ! "  cries  Mademoiselle  de  Haute- 
fort  bitterly.  "  And  you  love  him." 

"No,  mademoiselle,  Chalais  is  no  coward.  He  is 
a  noble  gentleman,  whose  fortitude  will  yet  save 
her  Majesty.  He  has  been  betrayed  by  Louvigni, 
the  traitor,  out  of  jealousy.  Do  not  interrupt  me, 
mademoiselle,"  continues  the  Duchess,  seeing  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  is  again  about  to  break 
forth  into  reproaches  against  Chalais.  "  No  sooner 
had  Chalais  arrived  at  the  Bastille  than  Richelieu 
visited  him  in  his  cell.  He  offered  him  his  life  if  he 
would  consent  to  inculpate  your  Majesty  in  the  plot. 
Chalais  refused,  and  declared  that  the  plot  of  which 
you  were  informed  by  Monsieur  the  Due  d'Orl£ans, 
was  directed  against  himself ;  and  he  told  the  Cardinal 
he  might  tear  him  in  pieces  with  wild  horses  before  he 
would  say  one  word  to  your  Majesty's  prejudice." 


286  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"Generous  Chalais !  "  exclaims  the  Queen,  clasp- 
ing her  hands.  "  Can  he  not  be  saved  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame,  my  noble  friend  must  die.  He 
knows  it,  and  places  his  life  at  your  feet." 

Anne  sobs  violently. 

"  Horrible  !  Oh,  that  I  should  cost  those  who 
love  me  so  dear  !  Proceed,  Duchess." 

"  The  Cardinal  had  in  the  meantime,  as  soon  as 
your  Majesty  left  Saint-Germain,  sent  to  force  your 
drawers  and  cabinets  for  papers."  Anne  rises  to  her 
feet,  white  with  terror.  "  Never  fear,  Madame ;  I 
had  thought  of  that.  Laporte  had  destroyed  every- 
thing by  my  order.  Only  one  letter  to  your  brother 
the  King  of  Spain  was  found.  It  was  written  the 
day  you  left,  and  confided  by  you,  Mademoiselle  de 
Hautefort,  to  Laporte,"  and  the  Duchess  gives  a 
spiteful  glance  at  the  maid  of  honour.  "  Before  he 
despatched  it,  Laporte  was  seized  and  searched." 

"  There  was  nothing  in  that  letter  derogatory  to 
me  as  Queen  of  France,"  says  the  Queen  quickly. 
"  I  spoke  of  Richelieu's  insane  passion  for  me,  and 
described  the  scene  at  Saint-Germain,  and  I  told  him 
I  was  about  to  leave  for  the  Val  de  Grace  ;  nothing 
more.  The  Cardinal  will  not  show  that  letter." 

"Yes,  Madame,  God  be  praised  !  it  is  so.  But  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  tell  Chalais 
that  but  one  letter  had  been  found,  and  that  per- 
fectly innocent,  before  he  was  examined  by  the  Car- 
dinal. I  have  told  him.  He  knows  he  can  save  his 
Queen.  He  is  content  to  die !  "  As  the  Duchess 
speaks,  the  sound  of  wheels  again  interrupts  them. 
"  Hark !  The  Chancellor  and  the  Archbishop  have 
arrived.  Courage,  your  Majesty  !  All  now  depends 


At   Veil  de    Grdce.  287 

on  your  presence  of  mind.  Nothing  will  be  found 
in  this  convent,  and  Laporte  waits  at  the  door  with- 
out. He  will  suffer  no  one  to  enter." 

Anne  flings  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  Duchess. 

"  You  have  saved  me !  "  she  cries,  and  covers  her 
with  kisses. 

An  hour  has  passed.  Laporte  knocks  at  the  door, 
and  enters.  His  looks  betray  the  alarm  he  tries  to 
conceal. 

"  The  Chancellor,  Madame,  has  arrived,  in  company 
with  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,"  he  says,  addressing 
the  Queen.  "  The  Archbishop  has  commanded  the 
Abbess,  the  venerable  Louise  de  Milli,  and  all  the 
sisterhood,  who  went  out  to  meet  him,  to  return  each 
one  within  her  cell,  and  not  to  exchange  a  single 
word  together  during  the  time  he  remains  in  the 
convent,  under  pain  of  excommunication."  The 
Queen  and  the  Duchess  exchange  anxious  glances. 
Laporte  speaks  again  with  much  hesitation,  "  I  regret 
to  say  that  the  Chancellor  then  proceeded  to  search 
all  the  cells.  No  papers  were  found."  The  Duchess 
clasps  her  hands  with  exultation.  "  How  can  I  go 
on?"  Laporte  groans,  the  tears  coming  into  his 
eyes.  "  Forgive  me,  Madame ;  I  cannot  help  it." 
The  Queen  makes  an  impatient  gesture,  and  Laporte 
continues  :  "  The  Chancellor  craves  your  Majesty's 
pardon,  but  desires  me  to  tell  you  that  he  bears  a 
royal  warrant,  which  he  must  obey,  to  search  your 
private  apartment,  and  this  oratory  also." 

"  Let  him  have  every  facility,  my  good  Laporte," 
answers  the  Queen  collectedly.  "  Mademoiselle  de 
Hautefort,  deliver  up  all  my  keys  to  Laporte." 


288  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  The  Chancellor  and  the  Archbishop  desire  to 
speak  also  to  the  lady-in-waiting  on  your  Majesty, 
the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,"  Laporte  adds. 

"  What  new  misfortune  is  this  ?  "  cries  Anne  of 
Austria,  turning  very  pale.  "  Go,  dear  Duchess  :  all 
is  not  yet  over,  I  fear." 

Madame  de  Chevreuse  leaves  the  oratory  with 
Laporte.  The  Queen  casts  herself  on  her  knees  before 
the  sacred  relics  exposed  on  the  altar.  She  hides  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

It  is  not  long  before  the  Duchess  returns.  Her 
triumphant  air  has  vanished.  She  tries  to  appear  un- 
concerned, but  cannot.  Anne  rises  from  her  knees, 
and  looks  at  her  in  silence. 

"  Speak,  Madame  de  Chevreuse ;  I  can  bear  it," 
she  says  meekly. 

"Alas  !  my  dear  mistress,  Richelieu's  vengeance  is 
not  yet  complete.  The  Chancellor  has  announced  to 
me  that  a  Council  of  State  is  about  to  assemble  in  the 
refectory  of  the  convent.  You  are  summoned  to  ap- 
pear, to  answer  personally  certain  matters  laid  to  your 
charge." 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  utters  a  loud  scream. 
The  Queen,  her  eyes  riveted  on  the  Duchess,  neither 
moves  nor  speaks  for  some  moments. 

"You  have  more  to  say.  Speak,  Duchess,"  she 
says  at  last  in  a  low  voice. 

"Nothing  whatever  has  been  found — no  line,  no 
paper.  I  took  care  of  that,"  and  the  Duchess  smiles 
faintly. 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  me  all.  I  must  hear  it. 
Conceal  nothing,"  again  insists  the  Queen. 

"Alas!  it  is  indeed  as  you  say.     The  Chancellor" 


At   Val  de    Grace.  289 

— and  her  voice  falls  almost  to  a  whisper — "  has  ex- 
press orders  under  the  King's  hand  to  search  your 
Majesty's  person" 

"  Search  an  anointed  Queen  !  "  exclaims  Anne  of 
Austria.  "  Never!  "  and  she  stretches  out  her  arms 
wildly  towards  the  altar.  ''  Holy  Virgin,  help  me  !  " 
she  cries. 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  many  footsteps  is 
heard  without  in  the  stone  passage,  approaching  the 
door.  Anne  of  Austria  has  risen ;  she  stands  in  the 
centre  of  the  oratory ;  an  unwonted  fire  glows  in  her 
eyes,  a  look  of  unmistakable  command  spreads  itself 
over  her  whole  person.  Never  had  she  looked  more 
royal  than  in  this  moment  of  extreme  humiliation. 
The  Duchess  rushes  to  the  door  and  draws  the  pon- 
derous bolts.  "  Now  let  them  come,"  cries  she,  "  if 
they  dare !  "  They  all  listen  in  breathless  silence. 
The  voice  of  Laporte,  who  has  returned  to  his 
post  outside  the  door,  is  heard  in  low  but  angry 
altercation.  Then  he  is  heard  to  say,  in  a  loud 
voice — 

••  Xo  one  can  be  admitted  to  her  Majesty,  save 
only  the  King,  without  her  permission." 

•'  \Ve  command  you  in  the  name  of  the  law.  Stand 
aside  !  "  is  the  reply. 

Then  another  voice  speaks  : — 

••  We  are  the  bearers  of  an  order  from  the  King  and 
the  Council  of  State  to  see  her  Majesty."  It  is  the 
Chancellor's  voice,  and  his  words  are  distinctly  audi- 
ble within. 

"  I  know  of  no  order  but  from  the  Queen  my  mis- 
tress. Your  Grace  shall  not  pass.  If  you  do,  it 
shall  be  across  my  body,"  Laporte  is  heard  to  reply. 

VOL.    1. — 19 


290  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  We  enter  our  solemn  protest  against  this  breach 
of  the  law  ;  but  we  decline  to  force  her  Majesty's 
pleasure."  It  was  still  the  Chancellor  who  spoke. 
Then  the  sound  of  receding  footsteps  told  that  he 
was  gone. 

"  Where  will  this  end  ?  "  asks  Anne  in  a  hollow 
voice,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

The  Duchess  and  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  fling 
their  arms  round  her. 

"  Bear  up,  Madame,  the  worst  is  over.  Be  only 
firm  ;  they  can  prove  nothing,"  whispers  the  Duchess. 
"  There  is  not  a  tittle  of  evidence  against  you." 

"  Ah,  but,  my  friend,  you  forget  that  the  King  is 
eager  to  repudiate  me.  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort 
knows  it  from  his  own  lips." 

"  He  cannot,  without  proofs  of  your  guilt,"  the 
Duchess  answers  resolutely.  "  There  are  none.  And 
if  he  does,  quimporte  ?  Why  mar  that  queenly  brow 
with  sorrow,  and  wrinkle  those  delicate  cheeks  with 
tears?  Be  like  me,  Madame,  a  citizen  of  the  world 
— Madrid,  Paris,  London — what  matters  ?  The  sun 
shines  as  brightly  in  other  lands  as  here.  Life  and 
love  are  everywhere.  You  are  young,  beautiful, 
courageous.  To  see  you  is  to  love  you.  Swords 
will  start  from  their  scabbards  to  defend  you.  Your 
exile  in  your  brother's  Court  will  be  a  triumph.  You 
will  rule  all  hearts  ;  you  will  still  be  the  sovereign  of 
youth,  of  poetry,  and  of  song  !  " 

As  she  speaks  the  Duchess's  countenance  beams 
with  enthusiasm.  Anne  of  Austria  shakes  her  head 
sorrowfully,  and  is  silent. 

"  You  are  happy,  Duchess,  in  such  volatile  spirits," 
says  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  contemptuously, 


The  Queen  Before  the  Council.       291 

her  eyes  all  the  while  fixed  on  her  royal  mistress  ; 
"  but  I  cannot  look  on  the  disgrace  of  the  Queen  of 
France  as  though  it  were  the  finale  to  a  page's 
roundelay." 

The  sound  of  many  heavy  coaches  thundering  into 
the  inner  court  of  the  convent  puts  a  stop  to  further 
conversation. 

"  The  council  is  assembling !  "  exclaims  the 
Duchess. 

At  these  words  the  Queen  rises  mechanically ;  her 
large  eyes,  dilated  and  widely  open,  are  fixed  on  va- 
cancy, as  though  the  vision  of  some  unspoken  horror, 
some  awful  disaster,  had  risen  before  her.  She  knows 
it  is  the  crisis  of  her  life.  From  that  chamber  she 
may  pass  to  banishment,  prison,  or  death.  For  a 
moment  her  mind  wanders.  She  looks  round  wildly. 
"  Spare  me !  spare  me  !  "  she  murmurs,  and  she  wrings 
her  hands.  "Alas  !  I  am  too  young  to  die  !  "  Then 
collecting  her  scattered  senses,  she  moves  forward 
with  measured  steps.  "  I  am  ready,"  she  says,  in  a 
hollow  voice.  "  Unbar  the  door." 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

THE  QUEEN  BEFORE  THE  COUNCIL. 

TH  E  refectory  of  the  convent  of  the  Val  de  Grace 
is    a    vast  apartment,  dimly    lit    by    rows    of 
small  lancet  windows  placed    along  the  side  walls. 
These  walls  are  bare,  panelled  with  dark  wood  ;  great 
oaken  rafters  span  the  tented  roof.     At  the  eastern 


292  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

end  hangs  a  large  crucifix  of  silver.  In  the  centre  is 
a  table,  round  which  the  three  principal  members  of 
the  council  are  assembled.  Alone,  at  the  head,  is 
the  King,  uneasily  seated  on  the  corner  of  a  huge 
chair.  His  whole  body  is  shrunk  and  contracted,  as 
though  he  were  undergoing  some  agonising  penance. 
He  never  raises  his  eyes  ;  his  pallid  face  works  with 
nervous  excitement.  His  hat  is  drawn  over  his  brow  ; 
his  hands  are  clasped  upon  his  knees.  That  he  had 
come  in  haste  is  apparent,  for  he  wears  his  usual 
dark  hunting-dress. 

At  his  right  hand  is  the  Cardinal,  wearing  a  long 
tightly  fitting  soutane  of  purple  silk,  with  a  cloak  of 
the  same  colour.  His  countenance  is  perfectly  im- 
passive, save  that  when  he  moves,  and  the  light  from 
above  strikes  upon  his  dark  eyes,  they  glitter.  In 
his  delicate  hands  he  holds  some  papers,  to  which  he 
refers  from  time  to  time  :  others  lie  on  the  table  near 
him.  Opposite  the  Cardinal  are  the  Archbishop  of 
Paris  and  the  Chancellor  Seguier.  At  the  farther  end 
of  the  council-table,  facing  the  King,  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria is  seated.  The  colour  comes  and  goes  upon  her 
downy  cheeks  ;  but  otherwise  no  sovereign  throned 
in  fabled  state  is  more  queenly  than  this  golden- 
haired  daughter  of  the  Caesars. 

The  Cardinal  turns  towards  her,  but,  before  ad- 
dressing her,  his  eyes  are  gathered  fixedly  upon  her. 
Then,  in  a  placid  voice,  he  speaks — 

"  Your  Majesty  has  been  summoned  by  the  King 
here  present  to  answer  certain  matters  laid  to  your 
charge." 

Anne  of  Austria  rises  and  makes  an  obeisance, 
looking  towards  the  King,  then  reseats  herself. 


The  Queen  Before  the  Council.        293 

"  I  am  here  to  answer  whatever  questions  his 
Majesty  sees  good  to  put  to  me,"  she  replies,  in  a 
clear,  firm  voice. 

"  His  Majesty,  Madame,  speaks  through  my  voice," 
answers  Richelieu,  significantly,  observing  her 
pointed  reference  to  the  King's  presence ;  "  I  am 
here  as  his  alter  ego.  It  is  said,"  he  continues,  in  the 
same  impassive  manner  in  which  he  had  at  first  ad- 
dressed her,  "  that  you,  Madame  Anne  of  Austria, 
consort  of  the  King,  hold  a  treasonable  correspon- 
dence in  cipher  with  your  brother,  Philip,  King  of 
Spain,  now  waging  war  against  this  realm  of  France, 
and  that  therein  you  betray  to  him  secrets  of  state 
to  the  manifest  hurt  and  danger  of  the  King's 
armies,  by  affording  treacherous  foreknowledge  of 
their  movements  and  of  the  measures  of  his  Govern- 
ment. What  answer  does  your  Majesty  make  to  so 
grave  a  charge  ?  " 

"  If  it  be  so,  let  these  letters  be  produced,"  an- 
swers the  Queen  boldly.  "  I  declare  that  beyond 
the  natural  love  I  bear  my  brother  and  his  consort, 
Elizabeth  of  France,  sister  to  the  King, — which  love 
surely  is  no  crime, — I  have  never,  by  word  or  deed, 
betrayed  aught  that  I  might  know  to  the  prejudice 
of  the  King,  my  husband,  or  of  this  great  country  of 
which  I  am  the  Queen." 

"  Why,  then,  Madame,  if  these  letters  were  harm- 
less did  you  write  in  a  cipher  unknown  to  the  King's 
ministers  ?  "  asks  the  Cardinal,  bending  his  piercing 
eyes  keenly  upon  her. 

"  Because,"  replies  the  Queen,  ''  I  knew  that  spies 
were  set,  by  the  King's  order,  at  your  instance,"  and 
she  points  to  the  Cardinal,  "  to  waylay  these  letters, 


294  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

the  writing  of  which  has  been  to  me,  next  to  God, 
my  greatest  comfort  in  much  sorrow  and  persecution 
which  I  have  suffered  wrongfully  since  I  came  into 
France." 

"  Madame,"  continues  Richelieu,  speaking  with 
the  same  unmoved  voice  and  manner,  "  do  you  know 
Henry  de  Talleyrand,  Comte  de  Chalais,  Master  of 
the  Robes  to  his  Majesty,  and  once  esteemed  by 
him  as  his  faithful  subject  ?  " 

"  I  do  know  him,"  answers  the  Queen. 

"  Do  you  know  also  that  this  gentleman,  the 
Comte  de  Chalais,  has  been  lately  arrested  at  Nantes, 
and  is  now  lying  in  the  prison  of  the  Bastille,  ac- 
cused of  having  treacherously  conspired  against  the 
sacred  person  of  his  Majesty,  with  the  design  of 
placing  on  the  throne,  at  his  death,  Monseigneur, 
Due  d'Orl£ans — brother  of  the  King ;  and  that  the 
Comte  de  Chalais  avers  and  declares,  before  wit- 
nesses, that  he  acted  by  your  order  and  by  your 
counsel?  What  answer  have  you  to  make  to  this, 
Madame?  " 

"  That  it  is  false,  and  unsupported  by  any  evi- 
dence whatever,  and  that  you,  Cardinal  Richelieu, 
know  that  it  is  false."  Then  Anne  of  Austria  raises 
her  hands  towards  the  crucifix  hanging  before  her — 
"  By  the  blessed  wounds  of  our  Lord  Jesus,  I  swear 
that  I  never  knew  that  the  life  of  the  King,  my  hus- 
band, was  threatened  ;  if  it  were  so,  it  was  concealed 
from  me."  A  stifled  groan  is  heard  from  the  King. 
Both  the  Chancellor  and  the  Archbishop  appear 
greatly  impressed  by  the  Queen's  solemn  declara- 
tion, and  whisper  together.  Richelieu  alone,  is  un- 
moved. 


The  Queen  Before  the  Council.        295 

Then  the  Queen  rises,  and  for  the  first  time,  turns 
her  large  eyes  full  upon  the  Cardinal,  over  whose 
frame  a  momentary  tremor  passes.  "  It  was  of 
another  plot  that  the  Comte  de  Chalais  spoke  ;  and 
of  another  assassination,  not  that  of  the  King.  His 
Majesty  himself — if  I  mistake  not — knew  and  did 
not  disapprove  of  this  other  project,  and  of  remov- 
ing him  whom  I  mean.  Nevertheless  I  shrank  from 
the  proposal  with  horror ;  I  expressly  forbade  all 
bloodshed,  although  it  would  have  removed  a 
deadly  enemy  from  my  path."  And  the  Queen, 
while  she  speaks,  fixes  her  undaunted  gaze  full  on 
the  Cardinal,  who  casts  down  his  eyes  on  the  papers 
he  holds  in  his  hands.  "  Let  his  Majesty  confront 
me  with  Chalais ;  he  will  confirm  the  truth  of  what 
I  say."  Anne  of  Austria  stops  to  watch  the  effect 
of  her  words.  Something  like  a  groan  again  escapes 
from  the  King ;  he  pulls  at  his  beard,  and  moves 
uneasily  in  his  chair,  as  the  Cardinal's  lynx  eyes  are 
directed,  for  an  instant,  towards  him  with  a  malig- 
nant glare.  The  Cardinal  stoops  to  consult  some 
documents  that  lie  upon  the  table,  and  for  a  few 
moments  not  a  word  was  uttered.  Then  resuming 
his  former  placid  voice  and  manner,  Richelieu  faces 
the  Queen,  and  proceeds  : — 

"  Further,  Madame,  it  is  averred,  and  it  is  be- 
lieved by  his  Majesty,  that  you,  forgetting  the  duty 
of  a  wife,  and  the  loyalty  of  a  Queen,  have  ex- 
changed love-tokens  with  the  said  prince  of  the 
blood,  Gaston,  Due  d'Orleans,  now  for  his  manifest 
treason  fled  into  Spain," — at  these  words,  to  which 
she  listens  with  evident  horror,  Anne  clasps  her 
hands  ; — "  further,  that  you,  Madame,  and  your  lady 


296  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

of  the  bedchamber,  Marie  de  Lorraine,  Duchesse  de 
Chevreuse,  did  conspire,  with  Chalais  and  others, 
for  this  unholy  purpose." 

Anne's  face  is  suffused  with  a  deep  blush  of  shame 
while  the  Cardinal  speaks  ;  for  a  moment  her  courage 
seems  to  fail  her — then,  collecting  herself,  she 
stretches  out  her  arms  towards  the  King,  and  says 
solemnly,  "  I  call  on  his  Majesty,  Louis — surnamed 
the  Just — my  husband,  to  confront  me  with  my  ac- 
cusers :  I  am  innocent  of  this  foul  charge." 

At  this  appeal  the  King  half  rises,  as  if  with  an 
intention  to  speak,  then  sinks  back  again  into  his 
chair.  His  features  twitch  convulsively;  he  never 
raises  his  eyes. 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  reply  to  the  wicked  and 
murderous  project  said  to  be  entertained  by  you  of 
wedding,  from  inclination,  with  the  King's  brother, 
at  his  death,  if  by  feeble  health,  or.  any  other  acci- 
dent, his  Majesty  had  been  removed  ? "  and  the 
Cardinal  bends  his  glassy  eyes  earnestly  upon  the 
Queen. 

"  I  reply  that  I  should  have  gained  nothing  by  the 
change.  The  Due  d'Orl£ans  is  as  fickle  and  unworthy 
as  his  Majesty,  who  sits  by  unmoved,  and  hears  his 
consort  slandered  by  her  enemies."  Anne's  eyes 
flash  fire  :  her  indignation  had  carried  her  beyond 
fear;  she  stands  before  the  council  more  like  a  judge 
than  a  criminal.  "  Have  a  care,  Armand  de  Plessis, 
Cardinal  Minister  and  tyrant  of  France,  that  you 
question  me  not  too  closely,"  the  Queen  adds  in  a 
lower  voice,  addressing  herself  directly  to  Richelieu. 
As  she  speaks  she  puts  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  and 
discloses,  between  the  folds  of  her  dark  velvet  robe, 


The  Queen  Before  the   Council.        297 

a  portion  of  a  letter,  bound  with  purple  cord,  which 
Richelieu  instantly  recognises  as  the  identical  one 
he  had  addressed  to  her  at  Saint-Germain,  asking  for 
a  private  audience.  The  Cardinal  visibly  shudders ; 
his  whole  expression  changes ;  his  impassive  look  is 
turned  to  one  of  anxiety  and  doubt ;  he  passes  his 
hands  over  his  forehead,  as  if  to  shade  his  eyes  from 
the  light,  but  in  reality  to  give  his  fertile  brain  a 
few  moments'  time  in  which  to  devise  some  escape 
from  the  danger  that  threatens  him  should  the  Queen 
produce  that  letter  before  the  council.  So  rapid  has 
been  the  Queen's  action  that  no  one  else  has  perceived 
it.  Something  peculiar,  however,  in  the  tone  of  her 
voice  attracts  the  notice  of  the  King,  who,  rousing 
himself  from  the  painful  abstraction  into  which  he 
has  fallen,  gazes  round  for  the  first  time,  and  bends 
his  lustreless  grey  eyes  suspiciously  on  the  Cardinal, 
and  from  him  on  the  Queen  ;  then  shaking  his  head 
doubtfully,  he  again  resumes  his  former  weary  atti- 
tude. Meanwhile  the  Queen,  imagining  that  she 
perceives  some  compassion  in  that  momentary 
glance,  rises  and  advances  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
council-table.  Grief,  anger,  and  reproach  are  in  her 
looks.  With  a  haughty  gesture  she  signs  to  the 
Cardinal  to  be  silent,  clasps  her  small  hands  so 
tightly  that  the  nails  redden  her  tender  skin,  and, 
in  a  plaintive  voice,  addresses  herself  directly  to  the 
King.  "  Oh,  Sire,  is  not  your  heart  moved  with 
pity  to  behold  a  great  princess,  such  as  I,  your  wife, 
and  who  might  have  been  the  mother  of  your  chil- 
dren, stand  before  you  here  like  a  criminal,  to  suffer 
the  scorn  and  malice  of  her  enemies?" — she  is  so 
overcome  that  her  voice  falters,  and  she  hastily 


298  Old  Co2irt  Life  in  France. 

brushes  the  starting  tears  from  her  eyes.  "  I  know," 
she  continues,  with  her  appealing  eyes  resting  on 
the  King,  "  I  know  that  you  are  weary  of  me,  and 
that  your  purpose  is,  if  possible,  to  repudiate  me 
and  send  me  back  into  Spain  ;  you  have  confessed 
as  much  to  one  of  my  maids  of  honour,  who,  shocked 
at  the  proposal,  repeated  it  to  me.  I  appeal  to 
yourself,  Sire,  if  this  be  not  true?"  and  laying  one 
hand  on  the  table  she  leans  forward  towards  Louis, 
waiting  for  his  reply ;  but,  although  he  does  not 
answer  her  appeal,  he  whispers  a  few  words  into  the 
ear  of  the  Archbishop,  standing  next  to  him,  who 
bows.  Then  he  falls  back  on  his  chair,  as  if  weary 
and  exhausted  by  a  hopeless  struggle.  "  My  lords, 
the  King  cannot  deny  it,"  says  Anne  of  Austria 
triumphantly,  addressing  the  council ;  "  My  lords,  I 
have  never,  since  I  came  into  France,  a  girl  of  fifteen, 
been  permitted  to  occupy  my  legitimate  place  in  his 
Majesty's  affections.  The  Queen-dowager,  Marie  de' 
Medici,  poisoned  his  mind  against  me ;  and  now 
Cardinal  Richelieu,  her  creature" — and  Anne  casts 
a  look  of  ineffable  disdain  at  Richelieu — "  continues 
the  same  policy,  because  he  dreads  my  influence, 
and  desires  wholly  to  possess  himself  of  the  King's 
confidence,  the  better  to  rule  him  and  France." 

The  Queen's  bold  words  had  greatly  impressed 
the  council  in  her  favour.  The  Archbishop  and  the 
Chancellor  consult  anxiously  together.  At  length 
the  Archbishop  of  Paris  interposes. 

"  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  appears  to  have  ex- 
plained most  satisfactorily  all  the  accusations  made 
against  her.  I  was  myself  present  at  the  examina- 
tion of  her  private  apartments  within  this  convent 


The  Queen  Before  the  Council.       299 

of  the  Val  de  Grace.  Nothing  was  found  but  proofs 
of  her  pious  sentiments  and  devout  exercises,  such 
as  scourges,  girdles  spiked  with  iron  to  mortify  the 
flesh,  books  of  devotion  and  missals.  It  is  to  be 
desired  that  all  royal  ladies  could  disarm  suspicion 
like  her  Majesty.  If,  therefore,  the  evidence  which 
the  Cardinal  holds  be  in  accordance  with  her  Majes- 
ty's declarations,  all  the  charges  may  be  withdrawn, 
and  her  Majesty  be  returned  to  those  royal  dignities 
and  honours  which  she  so  fitly  adorns.  Speak,  Car- 
dinal Richelieu,  do  you  hold  counter  evidence — yea, 
or  nay  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  does  not  at  once  answer.  He  shuf- 
fles some  papers  in  his  hands,  then  turns  towards 
the  King,  and  whispers  in  his  ear.  Louis  makes  an 
impatient  gesture  of  assent,  and  resumes  his  de- 
spondent attitude. 

"  I  have  his  Majesty's  commands  for  replying," 
answers  Richelieu,  "  that  no  letters  implicating  the 
Queen  in  treasonable  correspondence  with  her 
brother  have  been  at  present  actually  found, 
although  his  Majesty  has  reason  to  believe  that 
such  exist.  Also  that  the  Count  de  Chalais's  state- 
ments are  in  accord  with  those  of  her  Majesty. 
Also  that  the  King  acquits  Madame  Anne,  his  con- 
sort, of  the  purpose  of  marrying  with  his  brother, 
Monsieur  Due  d'Orleans,  on  whom  alone  must  rest 
the  onus  of  such  a  crime.  Usher  of  the  court,  sum- 
mon the  Queen's  ladies-in-waiting  to  attend  her. 
Your  Majesty  is  free,"  adds  Richelieu,  and  the 
mocking  tone  of  his  voice  betrays  involuntarily 
something  of  the  inward  rage  he  labours  to  conceal. 
"  Madame  Anne  of  Austria,  you  are  no  longer  a 


300  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

prisoner  of  state  under  examination  by  the  council, 
but  are,  as  before,  in  full  possession  of  the  privi- 
leges, powers,  immunities,  and  revenues  belonging 
to  the  Queen  Consort  of  France." 

Anne  of  Austria  leaves  her  chair,  salutes  his  Ma- 
jesty with  a  profound  obeisance,  of  which  Louis 
takes  no  other  notice  than  to  turn  his  eyes  to  the 
ceiling,  and  then  advances  towards  the  door.  The 
Chancellor  and  the  Archbishop  rise  at  the  same 
time  from  the  council-table,  and  hasten  to  open  the 
door  by  which  she  is  to  pass  out,  bowing  humbly 
before  her. 

"  The  royal  carriages  are  in  waiting,  Madame," 
whispered  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  who,  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  was  waiting  outside ; 
and  she  wrung  the  Queen's  hand.  "  My  dear,  dear 
mistress,  I  know  you  are  free  !  " 

"  Praised  be  God ! "  replied  Anne,  "  I  have  es- 
caped," and  she  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  as  also 
her  maid  of  honour,  who  was  so  overcome  she  could 
not  say  one  word  of  congratulation. 

"  Come,  Madame,"  cried  the  Duchesse  de  Chev- 
reuse, "  let  us  leave  this  dreadful  place,  I  beseech 
you,  lest  the  Cardinal  should  concoct  some  fresh 
plot  to  detain  you." 

"  Duchess,"  replied  Anne  gaily,  "  you  shall  com- 
mand me.  It  is  to  you  I  owe  -my  liberty.  But  for 
your  forethought  those  unhappy  letters,  wrung  from 
me  in  moments  of  anguish — ah  !  of  despair,  would 
have  been  found,  and  I  should  at  this  moment  have 
been  on  my  way  to  the  Bastille.  My  good  Haute- 
fort, you  have  not  spoken  to  me.  You  look  sad. 
What  is  it?"  and  the  Queen  took  her  hand. 


The  Queen   Before  the  Council.        301 

"  It  is  because  I  have  contributed  nothing  to- 
wards your  Majesty's  freedom.  Besides,  a  forebod- 
ing of  coming  evil  overpowers  me,"  and  she  burst 
into  tears. 

She  again  kissed  her,  and  led  her  by  the  hand 
towards  the  cumbrous  coach  which  was  to  bear  her 
to  Paris.  As  Anne  was  preparing  to  mount. into  it, 
assisted  by  her  page  and  Laporte,  who  had  reap- 
peared, the  Chevalier  de  Jars  approached  hastily, 
and  bowed  before  her. 

"  How  now,  Chevalier !  any  more  ill  news  ?  What 
is  your  business  here  ?  "  asked  Anne. 

"  It  is  with  this  lady,"  said  he,  turning  to  the 
maid  of  honour.  "  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  you 
cannot  accompany  her  Majesty  to  Paris." 

"  Why,  Chevalier?  "  demanded  Anne  impatiently, 
still  holding  her  hand. 

"  Because  I  am  commanded  to  make  known  to 
you  that  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  is  exiled  from 
France  during  his  Majesty's  pleasure.  I  am  charged, 
mademoiselle,  to  show  you  this  token,"  and  he  pro- 
duced the  other  half  of  the  golden  medallion  which 
Louis  had  broken  during  their  interview  at  Fon- 
tainebleau.  "  The  King  bid  me  say  that  by  this 
token  he  himself  commands  your  instant  depart- 
ure." 

The  Queen  clasped  her  in  her  arms. 

"My  poor  Hautefort,  is  it  indeed  so?  Must  I 
lose  my  trusty  friend  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort  threw  herself,  weeping 
bitterly,  at  the  Queen's  feet. 

"  Alas !  Madame,"  sobbed  she,  "  I  am  banished 
because  I  have  been  faithful  to  you  !  " 


302  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  Have  you  got  another  order — for  my  arrest,  par 
exemple,  Chevalier?  "  asked  the  Duchess  archly.  "  I 
have  also  committed  the  awful  crime  of  faithfulness 
to  her  Majesty.  I  suppose  I  shall  go  next." 

The  Chevalier  shook  his  head. 

"No,  madame.  You  will  accompany  the  Queen 
to  the  Louvre." 

The  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse  did  accompany  the 
Queen  to  the  Louvre  ;  but,  on  arriving  there,  she 
found  a  lettre  de  cachet  banishing  her  from  France 
within  twenty-four  hours.  A  similar  order  was  also 
served  on  the  Chevalier  de  Jars. 

The  Queen  was  free,  but  her  friends  were  exiled. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LOUISE  DE  LAFAYETTE. 

LOUISE  DE  LAFAYETTE— the  only  child  of 
Comte  Jean  de  Lafayette,  of  Hauteville,  and 
of  Margaret  de  Boulon-Busset,  his  wife — was  the 
young  lady  selected  to  fill  the  vacant  post  of  maid 
of  honour  to  the  Queen,  vice  De  Hautefort,  banished. 
So  long  a  time  had  elapsed  since  the  departure  of 
the  latter  that  it  seemed  as  though  Anne  of  Austria 
never  intended  to  replace  her ;  however,  the  new 
mistress  of  the  robes,  the  Duchesse  de  Sennecy,  a 
distant  relative  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette,  urged 
the  Queen  so  strongly  in  her  favour,  that  the  appoint- 
ment was  at  last  announced. 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  303 

Louise  de  Lafayette  had  passed  many  years  of  her 
girlhood  in  a  convent,  and  was  somewhat  devote,  but 
she  was  sincere  in  her  piety,  and  good-natured  to 
excess.  Not  only  was  she  good-natured,  but  she 
was  so  entirely  devoid  of  malice  that  it  actually 
pained  her  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  faults 
of  others.  Perhaps  her  chief  characteristic  was  an 
exaggerated  sensibility,  almost  amounting  to  delu- 
sion. She  created  an  ideal  world  around  her,  and 
peopled  it  with  creatures  of  her  own  imagination, 
rather  than  the  men  and  women  of  flesh  and  blood 
among  whom  she  lived — a  defect  of  youth  which  age 
and  experience  would  rectify.  She  possessed  that 
gift,  so  rare  in  women,  of  charming  involuntarily— 
without  effort  or  self-consciousness.  When  most 
attractive  and  most  admired,  she  alone  was  uncon- 
scious of  it ;  envy  itself  was  disarmed  by  her  ingenuous 
humility. 

Louise  was  twenty-three  years  old  when  she  was 
presented  to  the  Queen  at  Fontainebleau  by  the 
Principessa  di  Mantua,  during  her  morning  reception. 
The  saloon  was  filled  with  company,  and  great 
curiosity  was  felt  to  see  the  successor  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Hautefort.  The  most  critical  observers 
were  satisfied.  The  new  maid  of  honour,  though 
modest  and  a  little  abashed,  comported  herself  with 
perfect  self-possession.  She  was  superbly  dressed, 
had  a  tall  and  supple  figure,  good  features,  and  a 
complexion  so  exquisitely  fair  and  fresh,  and  such  an 
abundance  of  sunny  hair,  as  to  remind  many  in  the 
circle  of  her  Majesty  when,  in  the  dazzling  beauty 
of  her  fifteenth  year,  she  came  a  bride  into  France. 
But  Anne  of  Austria  never  had  those  large  appealing 


304  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

grey  eyes,  beaming  with  all  the  confidence  of  a 
guileless  heart,  nor  that  air  of  maiden  reserve  which 
lent  an  unconscious  charm  to  every  movement,  nor 
that  calm  and  placid  brow,  unruffled  by  so  much  as 
an  angry  thought. 

Why  had  not  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette  married  ? 
was  the  general  question  which  passed  round  the 
circle. 

"  Because  she  has  found  no  one  worthy  of  her," 
was  the  reply  of  her  friend  and  cousin,  the  Duchesse 
de  Sennecy. 

After  the  new  maid  of  honour  had  made  her  curt- 
sey to  the  Queen,  who  received  her  very  graciously, 
the  King  (who  had  as  usual  placed  himself  almost 
out  of  sight,  near  the  door,  in  order  to  ensure  a  safe 
retreat  if  needful)  emerged,  and  timidly  addressed 
her. 

Since  the  scene  at  the  monastery  of  the  Val  de 
Grace,  and  the  discovery  of  Mademoiselle  de  Haute- 
fort's  treachery,  Louis  had  never  once  appeared  at 
the  Queen's  lever  until  this  morning.  At  the  feu- 
words  of  compliment  he  found  courage  to  say  to  her, 
Louise  blushed  and  curtsied,  but  made  no  reply. 

The  next  day  the  King  was  again  present  at  her 
Majesty's  lever.  He  did  not  speak,  but  his  eyes 
never  for  an  instant  left  the  new  maid  of  honour. 

The  Court  was  at  this  time  greatly  agitated  by 
political  events.  The  Spaniards  were  making  the 
most  alarming  progress  in  France ;  they  had  pene- 
trated in  the  north  as  far  as  Corbie,  in  Picardy  ;  in 
the  south  they  were  overrunning  Provence.  Troops 
and  money  were  both  wanting.  The  position  of  the 
ministry  was  so  critical  that  even  Richelieu  was  at 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  305 

fault.  Louis,  roused  from  his  habitual  apathy,  sud- 
denly remembered  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  great 
warrior,  and  electrified  the  Council  of  State  by 
announcing  that  he  intended  at  once  to  take  the 
field  in  person.  A  resolve  so  contrary  to  his  usual 
habits  excited  great  discussion  and  general  interest. 

The  Saloon  of  Saint-Louis,  at  Fontainebleau, 
opens  from  the  royal  guard-room.  It  is  a  noble 
apartment,  divided  into  a  card-room  and  a  with- 
drawing,  or,  as  we  say,  drawing-room.  The  decora- 
tions are  the  same  as  those  in  the  Gallery  of 
Francis  L;  the  walls,  painted  in  fresco  after  designs 
by  Primaticcio,  are  divided  by  sculptured  figures,  in 
high  relief,  entwined  by  wreaths  of  flowers,  fruit,  and 
foliage.  The  ceiling  is  blue,  sown  with  golden  stars. 
Lights  blaze  from  the  chandeliers  disposed  on 
marble  tables  and  in  the  corners  of  the  room,  and 
display  the  artistic  beauty  of  the  various  paintings 
and  frescoes  that  cover  the  walls. 

The  Queen  is  playing  cards  with  the  Bishop  of 
Limoges.  The  Court  groups  itself  about  the  double 
rooms,  and  at  the  other  card-tables.  Near  the 
Queen  are  her  favourites  of  the  hour,  the  Principesse 
di  Gonzaga  and  di  Mantua ;  the  Duchesse  de  Sen- 
n£cy  is  in  attendance.  The  King  is  seated  on  a 
settee  in  the  darkest  and  most  distant  corner.  Anne 
dares  not  now  treat  him  either  with  impertinence  or 
hauteur.  If  she  cannot  bring  herself  actually  to  fear 
him,  she  knows  that  he  is  capable  of  revenge.  She 
has  learnt,  however,  both  to  fear  and  to  dread  his 
minister,  Richelieu,  under  whose  insolent  dominion 
Louis's  life  is  passed.  Madame  de  Chevreuse  is  no 


VOL.  I.— 20 


306  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

longer  at  hand  to  tempt  her  into  rebellion,  and  she 
has  learnt  to  submit  quietly,  if  not  contentedly,  to 
her  lot.  She  has  perceived  the  impression  made 
upon  the  King  by  her  new  maid  of  honour,  and 
looks  on  amused  and  indifferent.  Of  the  absolute 
goodness  and  perfect  rectitude  of  Louise  de  La- 
fayette, no  one,  and  certainly  not  the  Queen,  could 
entertain  a  doubt. 

As  she  pushes  the  cards  towards  the  Bishop  of 
Limoges  to  deal  for  her,  which  he  does  after  making 
her  a  low  bow,  she  turns  round,  the  better  to  observe 
his  Majesty.  He  has  moved  from  the  settee,  and  is 
now  seated  in  earnest  conversation  with  Mademoi- 
selle de  Lafayette.  A  sneer  gathers  about  the  corners 
of  her  rosy  mouth,  and  her  eyes  dwell  upon  him  for 
an  instant  with  an  expression  of  intense  contempt ; 
then  she  shrugs  her  snowy  shoulders,  leans  back  in 
her  chair,  takes  up  the  cards  that  lie  before  her,  and 
rapidly  sorts  them.  The  conversation  between 
Louis  and  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette  is  low  and 
earnest.  His  naturally  dismal  face  expresses  more 
lively  interest,  and  his  lack-lustre  eyes  are  more  ani- 
mated than  they  have  been  for  years.  As  to  the 
maid  of  honour,  she  listens  to  him  with  every  faculty 
of  her  being,  and  hangs  upon  his  words  as  though, 
to  her  at  least,  they  are  inspired. 

"  The  condition  of  France,"  the  King  is  saying, 
"  overwhelms  me.  Would  that  I  could  offer  up  my 
life  for  my  beloved  country  !  Would  that  I  pos- 
sessed my  great  father's  military  genius  to  defend 
her !  I  go,  perhaps  never  to  return  !  Alas  !  no  one 
will  miss  me,"  and  he  heaves  a  heavy  sigh,  and  the 
tears  gather  in  his  eyes. 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  307 

The  maid  of  honour  longs  to  tell  him  all  the  in- 
terest she  feels  for  him,  her  genuine  admiration,  her 
devotion,  her  pity  for  his  desolate  condition  ;  but 
she  is  new  to  court  life,  and,  like  himself,  she  is  too 
timid  as  yet  to  put  her  feelings  into  words.  She  sits 
beside  him  motionless  as  a  statue,  not  daring  even 
to  lift  up  her  eyes,  lest  they  may  betray  her. 

"  Happy,  ah  !  happy  beyond  words  is  the  man  who 
feels  he  is  beloved,  who  feels  that  he  is  missed  !  " — 
here  Louis  stops,  casts  a  reproachful  glance  at  the 
Queen,  whose  back  was  towards  him,  then  a  shy, 
furtive  look  at  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette,  whose 
heightened  colour  and  quickened  breathing  betrays 
the  intensity  of  her  feelings :  "such  a  one,"  contin- 
ues the  King,  "  has  a  motive  for  desiring  fame  ;  he 
can  afford  to  risk  his  life  in  the  front  of  the  battle. 
Were  I  " — and  his  voice  sinks  almost  into  a  whisper 
— "  were  I  dear  to  any  one,  which  I  know  I  am  not, 
I  should  seek  to  live  in  history,  like  my  father.  As 
it  is,"  and  he  sighs,  "  I  know  that  I  possess  no  qual- 
ity that  kindles  sympathy.  I  am  betrayed  by  those 
whom  I  most  trust,  and  hated  and  despised  by  those 
who  are  bound  by  nature  and  by  law  to  love  and 
honour  me.  My  death  would  be  a  boon  to  some,'* 
— again  his  eyes  seek  out  the  Queen — "  and  a  bless- 
ing to  myself.  I  am  a  blighted  and  a  miserable 
man.  Sometimes  I  ask  myself  why  I  should  live  at 
all  ?  "  It  was  not  possible  for  the  human  countenance 
to  express  more  absolute  despair  than  does  the 
King's  face  at  this  moment. 

"  Oh,  Sire ! "  was  all  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette  dare 
trust  herself  to  reply ;  indeed,  she  is  so  choked  by 
rising  sobs  that  it  is  not  possible  for  her  to  say  more. 


308  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

The  King  is  conscious  that  her  voice  trembles  ;  he 
notices  also  that  her  bosom  heaves,  and  that  she  has 
suddenly  grown  very  pale.  Her  silence,  then,  was 
not  from  lack  of  interest.  Louis  feels  infinitely 
gratified  by  the  discovery  of  this  mute  sympathy. 
All  that  was  surpressed  and  unspoken  had  a  subtle 
charm  to  his  morbid  nature.  After  a  few  moments 
of  silence,  Louis,  fearful  lest  the  Queen's  keen  eyes 
should  be  turned  upon  them,  rises.  "  I  deeply  de- 
plore, mademoiselle,  that  this  conversation  must 
now  end.  Let  me  hope  that  it  may  be  again  resumed 
before  my  departure  for  the  army."  Louise  does 
not  reply,  but  one  speaking  glance  tells  him  he  will 
not  be  refused. 

At  supper,  and  when  she  attends  the  Queen  in 
her  private  apartments,  she  is  so  absent  that  her 
friend,  Madame  de  Sennecy,  reprimands  her  sharply. 

The  next  morning  the  Duchess  went  to  her  young 
cousin's  room.  Madame  de  Sennecy  had  a  very  de- 
cided taste  for  intrigue,  and  would  willingly  have 
replaced  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse  in  the  confi- 
dence of  Anne  of  Austria,  but  she  wanted  her 
predecessor's  daring  wit,  her  adroitness,  witcheries, 
and  beauty ;  above  all,  she  lacked  that  generous  de- 
votion to  her  mistress,  which  turned  her  life  into  a 
romance.  Now  Madame  de  Sennecy  thought  she 
saw  a  chance  of  advancing  her  interests  by  means  of 
her  cousin's  growing  favour  with  the  King.  She 
would  gain  her  confidence,  and  by  retailing  her  se- 
crets excite  the  jealousy  and  secure  the  favour  of 
the  Queen. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  she,  kissing  Louise  on  both 
cheeks,  a  bland  smile  upon  her  face,  "will  you  ex- 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  309 

cuse  my  early  visit  ?  "  She  seated  herself  opposite 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette,  the  better  to  observe 
her.  "  Excuse  the  warmth  with  which  I  spoke  to 
you  last  night  in  the  Queen's  sleeping-room  ;  but 
really,  whatever  attention  the  King  may  pay  you, 
ma  chtre,  you  must  not  allow  yourself  to  grow  care- 
less in  her  Majesty's  service.  As  mistress  of  the 
robes,  I  cannot  permit  it.  All  the  world,  my  dear 
cousin,  sees  he  is  in  love  with  you  " — Louise  blushed 
to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  shook  her  head,  and  looked 
confused  and  unhappy — "  of  course  he  loves  you  in 
his  fashion.  I  mean,"  added  Madame  de  Sennecy 
quickly,  seeing  her  distress,  and  not  giving  her  time 
to  remonstrate,  "  a  perfectly  Platonic  love,  nothing 
improper,  of  course.  He  loves  you  timidly,  mod- 
estly, even  in  his  most  secret  thoughts.  I  am  told 
by  his  attendants  that  the  King  shows  every  sign  of 
a  great  passion,  much  more  intense  than  he  ever  felt 
for  Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort,  who,  after  all,  trifled 
with  him,  and  never  was  sincere." 

"  I  do  not  know  the  King  well  enough,  Duchess, 
to  venture  an  opinion  on  his  character,"  replied 
Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette,  with  diffidence,  "  but  I 
may  say  that  if  I  had  any  prepossessions  against 
his  Majesty,  I  have  lost  them  ;  I  am  sure  he  is  capa- 
ble of  the  tenderest  friendship  ;  he  longs  to  open 
his  heart  to  a  real  friend.  His  confidence  has  been 
hitherto  abused." 

"My dear  child,  I  have  come  here  to  advise  you 
to  be — well — that  friend." 

"Oh  !  madame,  I  fear  I  am  too  inexperienced  to 
be  of  use  to  him  ;  but  if  the  King  does  ask  my 
advice,  which  seems  very  presumptuous  in  me  to 


310  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

suppose,  I  shall  conceal  nothing  that  I  think,  neither 
facts  nor  opinions." 

"Ah,  my  cousin,  try  to  rouse  him;  make  him 
reign  for  himself ;  tell  him  to  shake  off  that  dreadful 
Cardinal." 

"  That  is,  I  fear,  impossible  ;  I  am  too  ignorant  of 
politics.  Besides,  what  can  I  do  now  ?  he  is  going 
away  to  the  war." 

"  Well,  \y\\\.,  petite  sotte,  he  will  return,  and  you  will 
meet  again." 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Louise,  again  colouring  under 
the  scrutinising  eye  of  the  mistress  of  the  robes, 
"he  will  forget  me  long  before  that." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Louise,"  replied  the 
Duchess,  "  the  King  never  forgets  anything." 

"  Dear  Duchess,  you  really  are  talking  nonsense. 
What  on  earth  could  make  the  King  care  for  me  ?" 
and  she  sighed  deeply,  and  fell  into  a  muse.  "  I  do 
pity  him,  though,"  she  added,  speaking  with  great 
feeling  ;  "  I  pity  him,  I  own.  He  is  naturally  good 
— brave — confiding,"  and  she  paused  between  each 
word. 

"I  am  glad  you  find  him  so,"  answered  the 
Duchess  drily. 

"  Yet  he  ill  fulfils  his  glorious  mission,"  continued 
Louise,  as  if  speaking  to  herself.  "  He  is  conscious  of 
it,  and  it  pains  him.  I  am  sure  he  suffers  acutely." 

"  Heal  his  wounds,  then,"  said  the  Duchess,  with 
a  cynical  smile,  but  speaking  in  so  low  a  voice  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette  did  not  catch  the  words. 

"  Ah  !  if  he  had  but  one  true  friend,  he  might 
emulate  his  great  father  !  Did  you  hear,  Duchess, 
with  what  firmness  he  addressed  the  deputies  yester- 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  3 1 1 

day,  who  had  refused  to  register  the  royal  edicts  for 
raising  the  necessary  funds  for  the  army  ?  '  This 
money,'  he  said,  '  is  not  for  myself,  but  for  the  na- 
tion, and  to  maintain  the  national  honour.  Those 
who  refuse  it,  injure  France  more  than  her  enemies, 
the  Spaniards.  I  will  be  obeyed,'  he  said.  There 
was  energy  !  Oh,  it  was  noble  !  "  and  her  eyes  glis- 
tened and  cheeks  glowed. 

"  I  suppose  the  Cardinal  had  composed  this  neat 
little  speech  for  him  beforehand,"  replied  the 
Duchess  with  a  sneer,  contemplating  her  cousin  with 
amused  inquisitiveness.  "  You  do  not  believe  he 
ever  spoke  like  that  himself?  You  do  not  know 
him  as  well  as  I  do,  else  you  would  not  be  so  enthu- 
siastic. However,  it  is  all  as  it  should  be.  I  do  not 
desire  to  disenchant  you,  I  am  sure.  Au  revoir" 
and  the  Duchess  left  the  room. 

The  next  morning,  before  his  departure  for  the 
campaign,  Louis  went  to  bid  the  Queen  farewell. 
It  was  only  a  formal  visit,  and  he  stayed  scarcely  a 
minute.  The  Queen  did  not  affect  to  care  what 
might  become  of  him.  On  leaving  her  audience- 
chamber  he  lingered  in  the  anteroom  in  which  her 
attendants  were  assembled.  Mademoiselle  de  La- 
fayette was  seated,  with  another  maid,  in  a  recess ; 
she, — Mademoiselle  de  Guerchy, — seeing  the  King's 
anxious  looks,  at  once  rose  and  retired.  He  imme- 
diately took  her  place,  and  signed  to  Louise  to  seat 
herself  beside  him.  Separated  from  her  companion, 
and  sitting  apart  with  Louis,  Louise  suddenly  re- 
membered that  it  was  precisely  thus  the  King  had 
conversed  tete-a-tete  with  Mademoiselle  de  Haute- 
fort ;  she  became  greatly  embarrassed. 


3 1  2  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

"  I  come,"  said  the  King,  turning  towards  her, 
and  speaking  in  a  plaintive  voice,  "  I  come  to  bid 
you  adieu." 

Louise  bent  her  head,  and  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.  Louis  started  at  seeing  the  big  tears 
roll  down  her  cheeks. 

"  I  have  enjoyed  few  moments  of  happiness  in  the 
course  of  my  dreary  life,"  continued  he,  pressing  her 
hand,  "  but  this  is  one." 

He  broke  off,  overcome  apparently  by  his  feelings. 
Louise  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  Sire,  believe  me,  I  only  feel  the  same  emotion  as 
thousands  of  your  faithful  subjects  at  a  moment 
when  you  are  about  -to  lead  the  campaign  against 
Spain.  If  you  would  condescend  to  inform  yourself 
of  general  opinion  you  would  find  it  as  I  say." 

"  It  may  be,  mademoiselle  ;  but  I  only  wish  now 
to  \OHCW your  feelings.  If  you  will  indeed  be  to  me 
the  devoted  friend  I  have  so  long  sought  in  vain, 
my  entire  confidence  shall  be  yours.  I  go  to-morrow, 
but  the  most  tender  recollections  will  cling  to  me." 
As  he  spoke  he  took  her  hand  in  his  and  kissed  it 
with  fervour.  "  Think  of  me,  I  implore  you,  with 
the  same  interest  you  now  display.  Believe  me,  my 
heart  echoes  all  you  feel.  If  I  am  spared,  please 
God,  your  sympathy  will  be  the  consolation  of  my 
life." 

At  this  moment  the  Duchesse  de  Sennecy  opened 
the  door,  in  order  to  cross  the  anteroom.  The  King 
started  up  at  the  noise,  and  walked  quickly  towards 
another  door  opposite.  The  Duchess  stopped  ; 
looked  first  at  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette  seated 
alone,  covered  with  blushes,  then  at  the  retreating 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  3 1 3 

figure  of  the  King.  She  took  in  the  whole  situation 
at  a  glance.  It  was  too  tempting  an  opportunity  to 
throw  away.  There  was  a  favour  she  specially  de- 
sired to  ask.  This  was  the  very  moment.  In  his 
present  state  of  confusion  the  King,  only  to  get  rid 
of  her,  was  sure  to  grant  it.  She  rushed  after  him, 
and  before  Louis  could  reach  the  door,  she  had 
seized  upon  him  and  spoken. 

When  he  had  gone  the  Duchess  ran  up  to  Louise, 
who  was  now  stitching  at  some  embroidery  to  hide 
her  blushes,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  You  are  merry,  Duchess,"  said  the  maid  of 
honour,  glad  that  anything  should  divert  attention 
from  herself. 

"  I  am  laughing,  Louise,  at  the  admirable  presence 
of  mind  I  have  just  shown.  As  you  are  only  a 
debutante,  I  will  explain  what  I  mean  for  your  special 
instruction.  His  Majesty  does  not  exactly  hate  me, 
but  something  very  like  it.  No  love  is  lost  between 
us.  He  dreads  my  making  capital  of  all  I  see  and 
hear  to  the  Queen.  He  dreads  my  turning  him  into 
ridicule — which  is  so  easy.  Of  all  the  persons  about 
Court  whom  he  would  least  have  liked  to  have  sur- 
prise him  in  the  tender  conversation  he  was  hold- 
ing with  you,  I  am  the  one.  He  tried  to  reach  the 
door.  I  saw  my  advantage,  and  pursued  him.  I 
knew  he  wanted  to  shake  me  off,  so  I  seized  the 
opportunity  to  ask  a  favour — of  great  importance 
to  me.  It  is  granted!  Is  not  this  clever?  I  am 
grateful,  and  will  not  repeat  one  word  of  this  little 
adventure  to  her  Majesty." 

Louise  shook  her  head,  and  affected  not  to  under- 
stand her.  "You  are  altogether  mistaken,  Duchess. 


314  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

His  Majesty  simply  honours  me  with  such  friend- 
ship as  he  might  feel  towards  any  loyal  subject 
devoted  to  his  interests.  It  is  because  the  Court 
affects  to  despise  him  that  I  appear  singular  in 
estimating  him  at  his  true  value  ;  nothing  else." 

"  You  are  a  prude,"  exclaimed  the  Duchess, 
bluntly.  "  I  hate  affectation,  especially  of  that 
kind."  Louise  hung  her  head  down,  and  played 
with  some  pearls  with  which  the  grey  silk  dress  she 
wore  was  trimmed.  "  Besides,  my  little  cousin,  you 
must  not  sacrifice  the  interest  of  your  friends, 
who  have  a  right  to  look  to  you  for  favour  and 
patronage." 

"  Oh,  Duchess,  what  a  vile  thought ! "  cried 
Louise  ;  reddening.  "  Do  you  think  I  would  make 
his  Majesty's  friendship  a  matter  of  barter  ! " 

"  Oh,  bah  !  "  replied  the  Duchess,  growing  angry. 
"Louise,  you  are  not  so  simple  as  you  pretend.  If 
you  ask  me  the  question,  I  reply,  certainly  your 
friends  have  a  right  to  look  to  you — especially  my- 
self, who  never  let  the  Queen  rest  until  she  ap- 
pointed you  her  maid  of  hono-ur.  She  had  almost 
made  a  vow  never  to  fill  up  the  place  of  her  dear 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort."  Louise  stared  at  the 
Duchess  with  a  troubled  look.  Worldliness  and 
meanness  was  a  new  and  unpleasant  experience — a 
fresh  page  in  the  history  of  the  Court — that  pained 
and  revolted  her. 

"When  the  King  returns,"  continued  Madame  de 
Sennecy,  not  condescending  to  notice  her  disappro- 
bation, "  I  shall  expect  you  to  give  me  all  your  con- 
fidence. You  shall  have  excellent  advice  in  return. 
If  you  follow  it,  in  six  months'  time  you  will  revolu- 


Louise  de  Lafayette.  315 

tionise  the  Court,  and  banish  Cardinal  Richelieu. 
You  will  by  that  one  act  secure  the  King's  friend- 
ship and  her  Majesty's  favour.  Eh,  Louise?  a 
brilliant  position  for  a  little  provinciate  like  you ! 
You  must  mind  what  you  are  about,  or  trie  Queen 
will  grow  jealous.  I  will  take  care,  on  the  first 
opportunity,  to  assure  her  you  are  only  acting  in  her 
interests." 

"  Jealous  of  me  !  Impossible  !  "  cried  Louise. 
"  Such  a  great  Queen  ! — so  beautiful,  so  fascinating ! 
Oh,  Duchess,  you  are  joking." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  warn  you  not  to  imag- 
ine that  there  is  any  joking  at  Court,  or  you  will 
find  yourself  mistaken.  Now  I  shall  leave  you, 
Louise.  Think  over  what  I  have  said.  Remember 
what  you  owe  to  those  friends  whose  influence  has 
placed  you  in  your  present  high  position." 


As  soon  as  the  Duchess  left  her,  Mademoiselle  de 
Lafayette  hastened  to  her  room,  locked  the  door 
and  sat  down  to  reflect  calmly  upon  all  that  had 
passed.  She  was  disgusted  with  the  coarse  selfish- 
ness of  the  Duchess,  whom  she  determined  for  the 
future  to  avoid.  Then  her  heart  melted  within  her 
as  she  recalled  the  King's  tender  farewell.  How 
eagerly  his  eyes  had  sought  hers !  How  melodious 
was  his  tremulous  voice !  How  tenderly  he  had 
pressed  her  hand  !  He  had  spoken  out :  he  wanted 
a  friend  ;  he  had  made  choice  of  her ;  he  had  prom- 
ised her  all  his  confidence  !  Delicious  thought ! 

No  one  had  ever  dreamed  of  attaching  the  slight- 
est blame  to  his  intimacv  with  Mademoiselle  de 


316  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

Hautefort.  It  would  be  therefore  absurd  to  reject 
his  advances.  She  was  safe,  she  felt,  entirely  safe 
in  his  high  principles,  his  delicacy,  and  his  honour. 
If  she  could  only  teach  him  to  be  as  firm  as  he  was 
winning,  release  him  from  the  bondage  of  favourites, 
emancipate  him  from  the  tyranny  of  Richelieu,  and 
deserve  his  gratitude — perhaps  his  affection  !  With 
what  energy  she  would  address  him  on  his  return, 
and  remonstrate  with  him  on  his  indolence,  his 
indifference !  With  his  courage,  his  powers  of  mind 
(in  which  she  sincerely  believed),  his  sensibility  and 
gentleness,  guided  by  her  devoted  far-seeing  friend- 
ship, might  he  not  equal  his  father  as  a  sovereign- 
surpass  him,  perhaps,  as  much  as  he  now  does  in 
morals,  as  a  man  ?  All  these  vague  ideas  floated 
through  the  brain  of  the  simple-minded  girl  as  she 
sat  musing  within  the  solitude  of  her  chamber. 


NOTES  TO  VOLUME  I. 


NOTE  i,  p.  4. 

Francis  I.,  born  at  Cognac,  was  the  only  son  of  Charles  d'Orleans, 
Due  d'Angouleme.  After  the  death  of  two  sons,  born  to  Louis  XII. 
by  his  wife,  Anne  de  Bretagne,  he  created  his  relative,  Francis,  Due 
de  Valois,  married  him  to  his  daughter,  Claude,  and  selected  him  as 
his  successor  to  the  throne. 

NOTE  2,  p.  20. 

Saint-Germain  1'Auxerrois,  one  of  the  oldest  churches  in  France, 
dedicated  to  St.  Germain,  Bishop  of  Paris,  by  Chilperic.  Saint-Ger- 
main 1'Auxerrois,  Saint-Etienne  du  Mont,  the  Hotel  de  Clugny, 
and  the  Hotel  de  Sens,  all  dating  from  a  very  early  period,  still 
remain. 

NOTE  3,  p.  21. 

Gentille  Agnes  plus  de  loy  tu  merite, 
La  cause  etait  de  France  recouvrir  ; 
Que  ce  que  peut  dedans  un  cloitre  ouvrir, 
Close  nonnaine  ?  ou  bien  devot  hermite  ? 

NOTE  4,  p.  30. 

The  Due  d'Alen9on,  husband  of  Marguerite  de  Valois,  sister  of 
Francis,  who  commanded  the  left  wing  of  the  French  army,  was  the 
only  man  who  showed  himself  a  coward  at  Pavia.  He  turned  and  fled, 
with  his  whole  division. 

NOTE  5,  p.  45. 

Triboulet  had  been  court  fool  to  Louis  XII.,  who  first  discerned 
his  good  qualities,  and  rescued  him  from  a  most  forlorn  position. 
Triboulet's  sayings  are  almost  a  chronicle  of  the  time,  so  much  was 
he  mixed  up  with  the  life  of  the  two  sovereigns  he  served.  Brusquet, 
who  compiled  the  "  fool's  Calendar,"  succeeded  him  in  the  office  of 
jester  to  Francis. 

317 


318  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

XOTE  6,  p.  54. 

PVancis's  exact  words,  according  to  Du  Bellay,  were — "  Les  Guises 
mettront  mes  enfans  en  pourpoint  et  mon  pauvre  peuple  en  chemise." 
This  prophecy  was  poetised  into  the  following  verse  : — 

"  Francois  premier  predit  ce  mot, 

Que  ceux  de  la  maison  de  Guise, 
Mettraient  ses  enfans  en  pourpoint, 

Et  son  pauvre  peuple  en  chemise." 

NOTE  7,  p.  58. 

The  Palace  des  Tournelles  (so  named  from  its  many  towers)  stood 
in  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine,  opposite  the  Hotel  de  Saint-Paul,  upon  the 
site  of  the  Place  Royal.  Charles  VI.  was  confined  here  when  insane, 
by  his  wife,  Isabeau  de  Baviere.  The  Duke  of  Bedford,  Regent  of 
France  for  Henry  VI.,  a  minor,  lodged  here.  After  the  expulsion  of 
the  English  from  Paris,  Charles  VII.  made,  it  his  residence.  Louis 
XI.  and  Louis  XII.  inhabited  it.  The  latter  monarch  died  here. 

XOTE  8,  p.  64. 

Another  contemporary  says  that  the  Queen  of  Navarre  was  invited 
to  Marcel's,  the  Prevot  of  Paris,  where,  having  eaten  some  confitures, 
she  fell  sick,  and  died  five  days  afterwards. 

XOTE  9,  p.  68. 

Charles  de  Guise,  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  was  Minister  under  Francis 
II.  and  Charles  IX.  He  endeavoured,  without  success,  to  introduce 
the  Inquisition  into  France. 

XOTE  10,  p.  95. 

No  sooner  had  Catherine  de'  Medici  built  the  Tuileries,  than  she 
left  it  to  inhabit  the  Hotel  de  Soissons  (then  called  Hotel  de  la 
Reine),  in  the  parish  of  Saint-Eustache,  in  consequence  of  a  predic- 
tion that  she  would  die  at  Saint-Germain.  The  Hotel  de  Soissons, 
as  well  as  the  Hotel  de  XTesle,  is  now  amalgamated  into  the  Halle  aux 
Bles.  At  the  Hotel  de  Soissons,  Catherine  lived  for  some  years  before 
her  death. 

NOTE  u,  p.  124. 

Coligni  was  prosecuted  as  accessory  to  the  murder  of  Francis, 
Due  de  Guise,  by  his  widow,  Anna  di  Ferrara,  but  no  sentence  was 
pronounced. 


Notes  to  Volume  I. 


319 


NOTE  12,   p.    126. 

Henri  de  Navarre  then  went  to  le  preche.  Marguerite  to  mass. 
NOTE  13,  p.  128. 

Memoirs  and  Letters  of  Marguerite  de  Valois  published  by  the 
Societe  de  1'Histoire  de  France,  by  M.  Guessand,  1842. 

NOTE  14,  £.  144. 

Coligni's  head  was  cut  off,  embalmed,  and  sent  to  Rome  as  a 
trophy.  His  remains  were  collected  and  buried  by  his  friend,  Mont- 
morenci,  at  Chantilly.  Before  their  removal  from  Montfaucon,  Charles 
and  all  his  court  rode  to  see  them.  One  of  the  courtiers  observed 
"  that  the  body  smelt  foul."  "Nay,"  replied  Charles,  "the  body 
of  an  enemy  always  smells  sweet." 

NOTE  15,  p.  135. 

SCLLY'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  MASSACRE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW. 
"  I  felt  myself  avfakened  at  three  hours  after  midnight  by  the  loud 
ringing  of  all  the  bells,  and  the  confused  cries  of  the  populace.  My 
governor,  Saint- Just  and  my  valet  went  out.  I  never  heard  anymore 
of  them.  I  continued  alone  in  my  chamber,  dressing  myself,  when  in 
a  few  moments  I  saw  my  landlord  enter,  pale  and  astonished.  He 
was  of  the  reformed  religion.  He  came  to  persuade  me  to  go  with 
him  to  mass.  I  did  not  think  proper  to  follow  him,  but  resolved  to 
try  if  I  could  gain  the  College  of  Burgundy,  where  I  studied,  notwith- 
standing the  distance  it  was  from  the  house  where  I  lodged,  which 
made  the  attempt  very  perilous.  I  put  on  my  scholar's  robe,  and  tak- 
ing a  large  prayer-book  under  my  arm,  I  went  out.  Upon  entering 
the  street,  I  was  seized  with  horror  at  the  sight  of  the  furies  who 
rushed  from  all  parts,  and  burst  open  the  houses,  bawling  out  '  Slaugh- 
ter, slaughter — massacre  the  Huguenots  !  "  the  blood  which  I  saw  shed 
before  my  eyes  redoubled  my  terror.  I  fell  into  the  midst  of  a  body 
of  guards  ;  they  stopped  me,  questioned  me,  and  were  beginning  to 
use  me  ill,  when,  happily  for  me,  the  book  that  I  carried  was  per- 
ceived, and  served  me  as  a  passport.  At  last  I  arrived  at  the  College 
of  Burgundy,  when  a  danger  far  greater  than  any  I  had  yet  met  with 
awaited  me.  The  porter  having  twice  refused  me  entrance,  I  re- 
mained in  the  midst  of  the  street,  at  the  mercy  of  the  Catholic  furies, 
whose  numbers  increased  every  moment,  and  who  were  evidently  in 
quest  of  their  prey,  when  I  bethought  myself  of  calling  for  the  prin- 
cipal of  the  college,  La  Faye,  a  good  man,  who  loved  me  tenderly. 


320  Old  Court  Life  in  France. 

The  porter,  gained  by  some  small  pieces  of  money  which  I  put  into  his 
hand,  did  not  fail  to  make  him  come  at  once.  This  honest  man  led 
me  into  his  chamber.  Here  t\vo  inhuman  priests,  whom  I  heard  make 
mention  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers,  wanted  to  force  me  from  him,  that 
they  might  cut  me  in  pieces,  saying :  '  The  order  was  to  kill  to  the 
very  infants  at  the  breast  ! '  All  that  La  Faye  could  do  was  to  conduct 
me  secretly  to  a  remote  closet,  where  he  locked  me  up.  I  was  there 
confined  three  days,  uncertain  of  my  destiny,  receiving  succour  only 
from,  a  domestic  belonging  to  this  charitable  man,  who  brought  me 
from  time  to  time  something  to  preserve  my  life." 

NOTE  16,  p.  138. 

According  to  Dufresnay,  Tables  Chronologiques,  vol.  ii.,  seventy 
thousand  Huguenots  perished  in  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
which  lasted  seven  days  and  seven  nights.  One  man  boasted  that  he 
had  killed  four  hundred  with  his  own  hand. 

NOTE  17,  p.  139. 

It  was  the  renown  of  these  victories  that  gained  for  Henry  the  crown 
of  Poland. 

NOTE  18,  p.  149. 

Comte  d'Auvergne,  son  of  Charles  IX.  by  Marie  Touchet,  illegiti- 
mate nephew  of  Henry  III.  and  half-brother  of  Henrietta  d'En- 
tragues. 

NOTE  19,  p.  158. 

Henry  IV.  was  the  son  of  Antoine  de  Bourbon,  Due  de  Vendome, 
and  of  Jeanne  d'Albret,  only  daughter  of  Henri  d'Albret,  King  of 
Navarre,  married  to  Marguerite  Alencon,  sister  of  Francis  I.,  the 
widow  of  the  Due  d' Alencon. 

NOTE  20,  p.  162. 

Chicot  was  a  Gascon,  jester  to  Henry  IV.  "K\& speciality vrta  intense 
hatred  to  the  Due  de  Mayenne,  whom  he  constantly  attempted  to 
attack.  During  an  engagement  at  Bures,  he  made  prisoner  the 
Comte  de  Chaligny,  and  carried  him  into  Henry's  presence.  "  Tiens!" 
said  he,  "  this  is  my  prisoner."  Chaligny  was  so  enraged  at  having 
been  captured  by  a  buffoon,  that  he  poniarded  Chicot  on  the  spot. 

NOTE  21,  p.  253. 
Marie  de'  Medici  died  in  poverty  at  Cologne,  aged  sixty-nine. 


Notes  to  Volume  /  321 

*-        NOTE  22,  p.  255. 

The  Duchesse  de  Montbazon  died  suddenly  at  Paris  of  measles. 
De  Ranee  was  in  the  country  at  the  time  ;  no  one  dared  tell  him  what 
had  happened.  On  his  return  to  Paris  he  ran  up  the  stairs  into  her 
rooms,  expecting  to  find  her.  There  he  found  an  open  coffin,  con- 
taining the  corpse  of  Madame  de  Montbazon.  The  head  was  severed 
from  the  body  (the  coffin  having  been  made  too  short),  and  lay  outside 
on  the  winding  sheet.  Such  is  the  story  according  to  the  Veritable 
Motifs  de  la  Conversion  de  I' Abbe  de  la  Trappe.  Other  authorities 
contradict  these  details. 

NOTE  23,  p.  283. 

Now  the  military  hospital  of  the  Val  de  Grace,  277,  Rue  Saint- 
Jacques.  Anne  of  Austria  having  been  married  twenty-two  years 
without  issue,  vowed  that  she  would  build  a  new  church  within  the 
convent,  if  she  bore  an  heir  to  the  throne.  After  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band, Louis  XIII.,  she  fulfilled  her  vow.  The  first  stone  of  the  pres- 
et church  was  laid  in  1645,  by  her  son,  Louis  XIV. 


END   OF    VOLUME   I. 


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